


Vendetta

by Ahatmadeofcheese



Series: Long, Tattered Shadows [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Child Abuse, Darth Vader Has Issues, Darth Vader is His Own Warning, Family Drama, Gen, Heavy Angst, Imperial Inquisitors (Star Wars), Implied/Referenced Torture, Murder, Suitless Darth Vader, Unfortunate Implications, Weekly Updates, Young Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 57,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28293411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahatmadeofcheese/pseuds/Ahatmadeofcheese
Summary: Four years after the fall of the Republic, Darth Vader has finally managed to track down his former wife. Under harsh questioning, she reveals that not only did their child together survive; there may be more than one. Armed with sparse information and the power of the dark side, he sets out on a very personal mission: find his children before they disappear forever.But the guardians of his son and daughter will not be giving up that easily.
Series: Long, Tattered Shadows [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085249
Comments: 44
Kudos: 29





	1. Ill Tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone’s got a bad feeling about this.

Anakin Skywalker is dead.

Darth Vader is alive and well. 

These are the basic facts that drive his existence. That doesn’t make it any easier when attachments to one tug at the heart of the other.

Has he killed his wife, or _his_ wife? Are the children she spoke of his legacy or a blatant reminder of all the things that are gone and broken? He must think on this. At length.

But when he returns to his ship, he doesn’t plot a route to Coruscant.

He plots it for the Alderaan Sector.

* * *

Erlo feels _way_ too shiny and conspicuous in his trainee’s uniform. The armor plating pinches around the shoulderblades and the stiff pants just feel stupid. It’s a tradition, his father had reminded him that morning on their way to the palace. Tradition. The big, dusty, stifling word that has hung over Erlo since he was born. It’s a word that allowed for little wiggle room, a word that tells him exactly what he’ll be doing and how he’ll be doing it. 

They’re walking through the first security checkpoint now. His father stops to chat with a pair of lightly-armed palace guards. Erlo examines the room around him. It’s not the first time he’s been in the palace; far from it. But he knows that his father will be quizzing him on possible flaws in the security, so he decides to case it out.

They’ve entered through the kitchen door and were stopped by the two men just inside, which is a good things because they aren’t all that far away (architecturally speaking) from the throne room and private offices. Of course, to get there without busting a wall down you’d have to walk down several other hallways and through other checkpoints, but that’s beside the point. The hallway has lots of windows, all of which are made of bulletproof transparisteel. There are only two doors out of the hallway, guarded by sentinels of their own, and doors into three other rooms that are all usually locked. 

“Give me a report, Lo,” his father orders as they continue on down the hallway, waved through by the next pair of guards. Erlo grins.

“Security is pretty tight. I’d keep an eye out on that gallery, but the guys in surveillance should have it covered.” And his father grins back, a grin that makes it worth it. One of the only things that makes it worth it. “Really, did you think I’d find something to complain about? That hallway’s probably been secure since the guard even knew it was going to exist.” The grin disappears into the look of a teacher. Erlo’s least favorite mode.

“Remember, son-” Erlo sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Complacency breeds chaos. And anything can happen in a time of chaos.” His father frowns.

“Allow me to ask you a question, then. If those guards didn’t do a quick check every day, they might miss something small. Become more lax. Now say one afternoon there’s a broken scanner outside the door and it lets a man with a delivery in without scanning his card properly. None of the guards check, so no one notices. That man could creep down the eastern corridor and into her Majesty’s stateroom, finishing her off with a quick blaster bolt.” Erlo shakes his head, but decides to keep his comments to himself. Arguing with his father never seems to end well. 

They continue down the path of the hypothetical assassin in silence, moving in the swift but neat gait of the security forces. Erlo doesn’t want to know how many hours he’s practiced the damn thing in his room or the gymnasium, taking quick short steps and keeping his posture rigid. It’s more than likely not enough to earn him praise under the current situation, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to give his father another thing to pick at.

“Go on,” his father says, turning around another corner, “I know you have something more to say. The best teachers can take any criticism.” Erlo sighs.

“Even if the man _did_ make it past the scanner, the door guards would notice that he didn’t go into the storeroom and stop him. Even if they assumed it was a delivery for elsewhere in the palace, someone would probably notice that he wasn’t following standard procedure and the east corridor guards would probably stop him. Even if they didn’t, one of the four is with the Queen at all times and there’s a pair of regs posted outside of her stateroom.” He pauses, considers, and then adds, “And I don’t know who would go after Queen Breha, anyway. They’d be far more likely to go for the Viceroy, considering he’s the face of the more controversial decisions.” Another grin. A big one, especially for his father.

“So you have been paying attention over the years! That was an excellent analysis, son.” Erlo shrugs, embarrassed at the realization. It isn’t like he was trying to give ‘an excellent analysis’, he was trying to show his father that the theoretical assassination was stupid. “I mean it. You’re exactly the kind of material we need on the guard.” He puts a hand on Erlo’s shoulder. “Your grandmother once told me that I’d have a hard time with you. ‘His head’s in the stars, son,’ she said, ‘the poor kid doesn’t have it in him to stick around and guard.’ I guess we’re going to be proving her wrong.”

A sick feeling bubbles in Erlo’s stomach. And how would he feel, he wonders, if I told him that she was right? He imagines sitting down with his father and confiding his true dreams. It doesn’t matter. He couldn’t do that. It’s tradition. First born to first born to first born. 

They wind up the barracks, a misnamed room full of screens, equipment lockers, and guards on break. Once, long ago, the guardsmen had actually lived and trained in the palace. Now they live in their own homes or stay at the complex. The complex where Erlo grew up. Bunks set into stone walls have been repurposed as desks, the chairs and tables are antiquated and far less utilitarian than one might expect. It’s a strange blend of old and new, but the entire palace is. The maze-like structure is both a help and a hindrance to security forces.

“Hey Erlo,” says Rij, not turning around from his many monitors. “How’s he doing, Kyrn?” Erlo’s father grins, inputting the passcode for his equipment locker and pulling out the important bits. The gleaming crest of the high guard stands out among stun batons and overarmor. One of four such crests. The crest that will someday be his.

“Tore apart my hypothetical pretty thoroughly.” Rij nods, still glued to the feeds and text alerts.

“I’d expect nothing less.” He presses a lever and drags something across the screen. “The kid’s bright.” Erlo shrugs. Sometimes the praise makes him feel like an imposter. “Oh, Tílda wants to see you. Got a message at oh-six-hundred with your name on it.” Erlo’s father nods, tilting his head in a gesture for his son to follow. 

“Thanks, friend. I’ll see to it after my meeting.” Rij turns around from his screen, making direct eye contact with Erlo’s father. Seeing the pale, freckled man’s face in anything other than profile is both strange and ominous.

“Why don’t you let Lo stay here with me?” A subtle tilt of his father’s head. Rij pushes his glasses up his nose. There’s something going on. “All the trainees end up here eventually; might as well save the shadowing for another day.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” Erlo’s father glances at him. “You’d be bored out of your mind in that meeting, anyway. I’ll catch you later, son.” Erlo stares at him, at the slight crease in his semi-visible brow. Something is wrong. But there’s not a hell of a lot Erlo can do about it.

“Got it.” He pauses, then adds, “Commander.” A slight and strained grin. Then his father’s leaving at an urgent clip towards the western wing. Something is very wrong. But what? How much can a push of the glasses really communicate? Although... he sinks down into a chair beside Rij, who’s turned back to his station. “I’ve been hanging around the security force since I was five, and I’ve never met anyone in comms named Tílda. I’ve never met anyone named Tílda at all!”

“Nothing gets past you.” Rij taps on a few buttons, then frowns, dragging a blinking alert to the left. “I wouldn’t worry about it, kid. Your dad’s got it covered.” 

“I know. He’s got everything covered. But it’d be nice to get let in on the secret.” He sighs and leans back in his chair.

“Why do you care? You’re not going to stick around and take captain.” Erlo bolts up, staring at Rij. He doesn’t elaborate, simply continuing to frown and scrabble at the screen.

“Of course I’m going to take captain! It’s my job.” Rij raises an eyebrow at the screen.

“It’s my job to watch people. I pick up on these things.” The man sighs, leaning in. “I’m not in the mood for a convo right now, Erlo. There’s some crazy shit on the scanners and-” Rij suddenly jumps to his feet, staring at a small text channel at the bottom of the screen. “Fuck.” He turns to stare, wide eyed, at Erlo. There’s no one in the room right now but the two of them. It’s a shift change, and all the higher level guards who would be on break are out or on their way.

“What?” Rij shakes his head, sitting back down and pulling his keytracker closer.

“I need you to go to the diplo entrance. We’ve got an unexpected guest and I need you to escort him to the parlay.” Erlo tilts his head.

“And what’s so terrible about that?” Erlo asks, “If he’s some sort of dignitary, there shouldn’t be a problem with a lesser guard escorting him.” Rij’s fingers dance in front of the lasers, typing out quick messages.

“Listen, kid...” Rij sighs, turning to look Erlo in the face. “You’re buying us time. Take our guest the long way round to the western conference room, then leave him there and run like hell. I need to get the message around so we can figure out what we’re gonna do. I didn’t realize it at first, but now... there’s a pattern. The whole royal family could be in danger.” He pushes up his glasses. “I’m not gonna sugarcoat this. If this guy figures out the ruse, he’s gonna kill you. Hell, he might kill you anyways. But this might be the difference between keeping the family alive and losing them.” 

There’s a pounding in Erlo’s head. He didn’t sign up for this. Didn’t ask to come in and get sent on some suicidal escort mission. He didn’t ask to be trained as a security agent, didn’t ask to be born into the guard. But... he knows the family. He’s hung around bored out of his mind as his father chatted with the viceroy. He’s ‘stood guard’ during enough feats and banquets to know that the queen absolutely hates quialberry jam. He’s played a game of hide and seek with the little princess. Knowing makes it hard to ignore.

“I’ll do it. But I’ve got one question.” Rij nods, turning back to his screen. “Who the hell is this guy? Why does him showing up put the fate of the royal family in jeopardy?” Rij tilts his head down and sighs.

“No one good.”

* * *

“Watcha doing, Ryoo?” She shrugs a strand of dark hair over her shoulder and turns to look at her little brother standing in the doorway. With Pooja off at her friend’s and her parents off in the city for one reason or another, Luke and Ryoo are spending the week with their grandparents. That means fabric. Ryoo smiles at Luke and pours another mass of wool out of the yellow dye pot.

“‘What are you doing’, bud.” She wipes her hands on her apron and gives the fibers a stir with a long, wooden stick. “I’m dyeing these for grandfather. Want to see?” The small boy nods, racing across the small shed and pulling a stool up to look into the pots.

“Looks gross.” Ryoo shrugs, moving down the line to check the other colors.

“It’ll be really pretty when it’s done.” She pokes indigo and red, which have been boiling for about an hour. They should be done. A quick glance at Luke reveals that his fingers are inching ever closer to the surface of the boiling pot containing green. “What’s the most important rule of the dye house?” He draws back, grinning sheepishly.

“Um, I dunno.” Ryoo rolls her eyes and pours indigo out into the sink. 

“It’s ‘don’t know’, and of course you don’t.” The freshly dyed wool is moved to a different sink and run under cold water. “The most important rule of the dye house is that we can’t touch anything.” Luke scoots along, peering at the soggy clumps of charuthnal wool.

“You touch lots of stuff.” There’s no arguing with that. Wet wool plops into the drying bins along the walls, both slower and more effective than electronic devices. Sure, it’ll dry your wool, but there’s something satisfying about doing it all the old fashioned way. Their family is easily rich enough to just buy cloth, or send their wool away to be processed, but that’s not the way her grandparents do things. Ryoo likes it that way. 

Green spills out into the sink now. And that one does look pretty gross, but the plant will make a nice pea-colored shade in the end. Even if the dye water is disgustingly rotten-looking. Once that’s in the rack, Ryoo’s done for the day. 

“What happened to playing with Kormé?” she asks Luke, washing her hands. He doesn’t answer, and she turns around to find him prodding one of the sodden lumps of wool with her stirring stick. “Hey!” 

“I’m not touching it.” Ryoo takes the stick from him anyway and sets it far back on the counter before untying her apron hanging it on the rack. He observes this with a hurt look on his face. “Where are you going?” She grabs his hand and leads him from the shack.

“Back to the house. And you’re coming with me.” The small boy sighs dramatically but follows her anyway. Ryoo stops for a second and just breathes in the air. Fresh, green air. It’s midsummer, her favorite time of the year. But this summer is an important one. A summer with a shadow. One that she can’t really avoid.

A shadow she can ignore. For now, at least. Here with the charuthnals and the wool and the cloth and dinner out on the terrace. Here with her brother and grandparents and the friendly kids not too far away. Until her parents show up in three days expecting an answer.

“So that’s where that boy got to,” Mama Jobal observes as they walk up to the house, Luke no longer needing guidance as he dashes for the porch. Kormé Brugal, the youngest daughter of the family down the road, jumps to her feet at his approach. Ryoo stands beside her grandmother, leaning against the porch railing. “I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy,” The grey-haired woman observes. Ryoo smiles, holding out her dye-stained hands for inspection.

“I’ve always loved working the wool.” She glances to the pair of chattering toddlers. They seem to be drifting off to the far corner of the yard. Ryoo starts to call them back, but Mama Jobal puts a hand on her arm and she stops.

“They can’t get into much trouble back here. Worst case, they’ll run into a puddle of mud and come in at dinner covered head to toe.” Ryoo sighs.

“I know, they just seem so... little.” Mama Jobal laughs.

“All kids do, dear. You and Pooja used to run off the same way.” The kids wander off towards the charuthnals, Luke clearly talking at several miles a minute. They’re an odd pair, quiet and shy Kormé with outgoing and boisterous Luke. Still, they work. “That old herd heog will probably follow them.”

“Boy? I haven’t seen him all day.” Mama Jobal grins.

“Oh, he’ll turn up when it’s time for supper.” The grin fades to a guarded look as she leans against the railing and watches the kids walk away. Then she turns back to Ryoo. “Why don’t you go find Lomme? I haven’t seen him in ages.” Ryoo frowns, resting her elbows on the railing.

“Lomme’s in Theed. He’s started school there.” She avoids her grandmother’s eye and the sympathy she’s sure to find there. Ryoo doesn’t need it. People older than you tend to move on fairly quickly. It’s a fact of life.

“You’re a smart girl, Ryoo. Are _you_ going to go to the secondary there?” And become a politician? That’s the unspoken second question. It’s not a stupid one; lots of Naberries are politicians. There’s at least one per generation. The answer to that question is ‘hm...’. Not the answer Mama Jobal is looking for, which is ‘no’. 

“It depends.” She allows herself a look at her grandmother’s face, and is shocked by the tumultuous emotions written there. “I’m not sure what I want to do yet. It’s a big decision.” Ryoo does know what she wants to do. She’s pretty sure, at least. But Mama Jobal wouldn’t want to hear it, and the only member of her family she _can_ talk about it with is not even on planet right now, with no word as to when she’ll be back. 

“You’re young. Sometimes I wish we weren’t so set on our young people choosing their paths early.” A smile, clearly faked. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.” This is a statement that Ryoo can’t make out the implications to. “Now, let’s go inside. I have some-” 

The back door opens quite quickly with a loud bang. It’s an old fashioned door, the kind that swings open and shut manually. Ryoo and her grandmother whirl around to find her father standing in the doorway. His face is pale and his mouth tight.

“Dad!” Ryoo cries, “You’re back early.” He sighs. It’s not a good sign. She folds her arms. “Is something wrong?” 

“You should probably come inside,” he says to Mama Jobal. Then he turns to Ryoo. “Please keep an eye on your brother for me.” 

“What’s happened? Is everyone alright?” He doesn’t answer. Footsteps sound on the porch steps behind them. 

“Daddy!” Luke flings himself at their father’s leg. But instead of pretending to be attacked, he just stands there. Luke quickly releases him. “Daddy?” The tall man kneels and pulls his son into a tight hug, then lifts him into the air with a groan.

“I need to talk with Mama Jobal for a little while, okay?” Luke nods enthusiastically. “You’re going to stay here on the porch with Ryoo.” He nods again. Their father hands him off to Ryoo, who promptly places him on the ground. She casts a look at Kormé, who’s hiding behind the railing.

“We should take Kormé home.” Ryoo says. Her father sighs.

“I need you to stay here for a minute. Please.” This pisses her off a little. She’s thirteen and a half, old enough to make decisions. Heck, there have been queens younger than her! But she’s supposed to sit outside and play babysitter while the grownups discuss whatever horrible thing happened. Ryoo agrees to, though. There’s not much else she can do.

Luke and Kormé sit on the porch steps playing illpa while Ryoo leans against the wall and stews. Something bad has happened. What exactly that is seems unclear. Did something bad happen to Pooja? Her mother? The last time she saw a look like that on her father’s face was when they received news that the Republic had changed its colors and their aunt was missing.

_The flowers bloom, bloom, bloom_

“-tell me sooner? You could’ve sent a holo, you could’ve called...” Ryoo sits upright, ears straining for the sound of her grandmother’s voice. Where did it come from? The children chanting and dropping rocks do not add to the audibility. She inches down the wall, closer to the dining room window. The open dining room window.

_The ladies cry, cry, cry_

“We had to make sure everyone was safe. Sola’s off getting Pooja from the Jezeriks right now.” Ryoo’s right next to the frame now, heart pounding. They never said she couldn’t listen, just that she had to stay on the porch. 

_The big blue moon, moon, moon_

“She might be alright.” Mama Jobal sounds worried, a string about to snap. “This isn’t the first time... I remember, seven or eight years ago, when the assassins went after her.” Assassins? Ryoo would’ve been... six? Seven? She can’t remember anything about assassins. 

_Shiraya fly, fly, flies_

“I’m sorry.” Her father sounds even worse; scared. Her mother and sister are okay, so what _is_ going on? A bunch of crazy scenarios run through her head, including assassins hunting every member of her family and a few of their close friends. “They... they went to look for her. And they found a body.” Dread pours over her.

The wail that her grandmother provides is echoed by Ryoo’s own internal shriek. Someone is dead! Someone is dead under suspicious circumstances! And her father wanted her to keep an eye on Luke... She turns, quickly, to check on the two kids. They still perch on the steps, their hands moving faster now.

_The grass is green, green, green_

“My poor baby.” Mama Jobal is crying. Actually crying. Ryoo’s never seen her grandmother cry. Luke looks up, concerned, halting the motion of the song. Ryoo smiles, attempting to dispel his fears. He goes back to playing, an uneasy frown out of place on his tiny face. “Oh, you don’t think they’ll come after the children, do you?”

_The clouds are white, white, white_

“Not the girls, I don’t think.” Ryoo has a pretty good idea of who they’re talking about now, but this last bit confuses her. Her aunt was a rebel spy. Or so she suspected, at least. She can’t let herself think about the loss right now. If their aunt was a spy, and she’s the dead someone they’re talking about, why would any of them be in danger? They haven’t seen her in over a year! “But Luke, maybe.”

_Seven gates lock, lock, lock_

“Luke? Why?” Ryoo’s father sighs. Ryoo’s stomach ties itself in knots. Her brother. Her little baby brother. In danger? From people who killed her aunt? If she’s reading this right.

_Chaos in-side, side, side_

“Because he’s Padmé’s son. Padmé and _him_.” Even the angry shout of her father, finally seeing Ryoo through the window, cannot stem the tide of feelings and questions that crests over her. Luke stands up now, anxiety splashed across his face. Luke, who has lighter hair than even their father. Luke, who their aunt always looked at with a strange kind of longing. Luke, who even their mother didn’t know about until she had him. Luke, her baby brother.

Luke. Her baby cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking artistic liberties with pretty much everything about the Alderaan royal guard, bits of Naboo culture, and that thinly disguised variation on the Miss Mary Mack rhyme. Padmé’s sister and nieces are all real characters who got chopped out of Attack of the Clones but are in the novelization. Erlo is fake and constructed by me.
> 
> Pronounciation:
> 
> Erlo sounds like ‘Air-low’  
> Ryoo sounds like ‘Rue’  
> Pooja sounds like ‘Poo-jah’ (j as in jam)  
> Jobal is ‘joo-bahl’ (j as in jam)


	2. Evil Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark siders are creepy.

It’s a long, slow walk down to the diplomatic entrance. Erlo’s got his helmet on and a stun baton at his hip. Rij refused to tell him anything else about the ‘diplomat’. To be fair, when Erlo left, his face had been glued to the screen and his fingers flashing away on the keyboard. He’s just going to have to do his job. My first day on the guard, Erlo reflects, and I’m going to die. Maybe he’ll be able to escape tradition in the afterlife. 

_With an attitude like that, you will._ One of his father’s favorite sayings, repeated time and time again during training sessions and practicals and arithmetic homework. Don’t give up before you’ve tried. Erlo takes a deep breath and halts, staring at the far wall. After this corner, it’ll be a clear shot to the entrance. He’ll be able to see this mysterious assailant, and the mysterious assailant will be able to see him.

So he can go in there expecting to die, or he can go in there expecting to live. And Erlo may not want to be the captain of the guard, but he sure as hell wouldn’t rather die. 

He pulls back his shoulders, crosses the baton across his chest, and eases his face into a neutral expression. Then he marches out and towards the end of the hallway, where four sentinels have crossed their weapons. He cannot see the person that they have halted, but he can tell that one guard, only a little older than Erlo himself, is trembling slightly. Erlo approaches the tall archway and stops behind the sentinels, the rear two turning to face him. Surprise and recognition flash across the younger guard’s features, but the other betrays nothing.

“I’ve been sent here from command to escort an unexpected guest,” he explains, voice neutral. The older guard, a well-kept, peppered beard poking out from the bottom of his helmet, nods.

“Verification on these orders?” Procedure. It gives him a tiny hope that maybe Rij was just overacting. He’d walked down here half expecting a bloodbath, only to be met by orderly rows and proper protocol. 

“Twenty-two AZH seven,” Erlo replies, “with two-one-twelve as the issuer.” The older guard nods again, giving his squad the signal to stand down. Everything will be alright, and with an attitude like that, it will. But when the men part, revealing the visitor, Erlo’s resolve is tested. The man in front of him has a face he’s only ever seen on holonet broadcasts, a man only spoken about in whispers. A man wearing a long cloak and a horrifying mask that evokes a skull.

“If-If you’ll follow me, sir.” Erlo could pinch himself for the slip up. Hopefully the man will interpret his fear as discomfort with his appearance. Then again, it’s rumored that Darth Vader can read your mind. There are lots of rumors about him, actually. ‘I heard that he’s actually a woman!’ ‘He’s a sorcerer!’ ‘He can kill you with just his mind!’ Erlo’s never put a lot of stock into the rumors, but it’s probably better to focus on the floor pattern to the exclusion of all else just in case.

“You will take me to Bail Organa.” It’s an order. Clearly, this man is used to being obeyed. Erlo fights to keep his expression neutral and his mind on the route to the western conference room. 

“Those are indeed my orders, sir. He will meet us in the western conference room.” People with authority will usually ignore you if you say ‘sir’ enough and act cowed. That’s a trick his father taught him about casing the crowds at banquets and other gatherings. Most people will say anything in front of a palace guard if they do a well enough job of blending in, even discuss their treasonous plans.

“You will take me to him _now_.” The voice is angry and distorted by his helmet’s vocabulator. _He might just kill you anyway._ Erlo takes a deep breath. “I have no time for his silly political games.” We’re going to the western conference room, he thinks, we’re going to the western conference room. 

“I am taking you to him now, sir. I thought we discussed this.” The hooded figure to his right turns to look at him, and Erlo realizes that there are slits in the mask for his eyes. Yellow eyes, yellow eyes tinged with red. He’s never seen eyes like that on a human before, and he wonders if the man even is human. They’ve stopped in the middle of the long corridor, one hallway that stretches practically the length of the building.

“If I wanted Organa dead, he would be dead. With or without your interference.” Erlo clutches his stun baton tighter, then reflects that a stun baton is probably useless against the dark lord’s laser sword. He’s never seen one in real life, before, but everyone’s heard the stories. When he was younger, he and every other kid in the galaxy had followed the Clone Wars and the Jedi fighting it. When they had free time, Erlo and the other compound kids would play battle with sticks and rocks, Jedi vs evil robot generals. He doesn’t think this guy will stop to argue with him about whether or not he’s been. It’s not like Erlo can just not try, either. “Your bravery is admirable, boy, but you needn’t lay down your life for your pathetic master.”

“I’m honor guard, first born son of the first of the four. I _do_ have to lay my life down; it’s kind of why I was born.” Erlo exhales. “As far as I’m aware, I _am_ taking you to the Viceroy. If we show up and he’s not there, you can kill me with the magic wizard powers everyone says you have.” Immediately, Erlo knows that that was the wrong thing to say. _Bravery is different than bravado._ Vader raises a hand and Erlo steps back instinctively, pulling his stun baton into a defensive position. 

It quickly become apparent that this is not an attack he can block. A light pressure on his throat, one that Erlo can ignore. But the pressure increases, striking panic into his mind. He drops the baton and his hands fly up to fight off the assailant’s chokehold, just like he was trained, but there’s no grasp to analyze. Only a man three feet away with his hand outstretched and his yellow eyes flashing with something primal and evil. He can’t move, he can’t call for help, he can’t breathe. The sound of his heartbeat in his ears becomes so very loud.

It’s suddenly gone and Erlo’s dropping to the floor, panting and clutching his throat. He looks up at the man warily, prepared for him to pull out some terrible weapon and finish things off.

“I am no wizard.” Erlo picks up his stun baton and pulls himself off the ground, retreating to a safe distance away. “I am a Sith. Now you will take me to Bail Organa or you will die.” Erlo exhales shakily, straightening up into his guard stance. 

“I am, have been, and will be taking you to see Bail Organa, sir. Please follow me.” And to his great, great relief, the masked man does. 

By the time they’ve arrived at the conference room, Erlo’s nerves are shot but he’s filled with resolve. Apparently there’s very little he can do to combat the man, so he’s going to do everything he can to buy the security forces time. It feels like his ancestors are with him, giving encouragement and strength through their silent presence. Every first born of every first born going back countless generations. They are with him, and he will be with them eventually. But maybe not today.

Erlo opens the door and gestures the man inside. The yellow eyes bore into his before he enters, and Erlo decides to follow. To his great shock, standing at the front of the room is the Viceroy, flanked by two of the four, one of whom is his father. Neither gives any flicker of emotion, nor do any of the reggies arranged nearby. Seasoned warriors. Did they plan this?

“Organa.” The man in front of Erlo snarls the word, drawing his lightsaber. The blade crackles into existence with a swish. It’s unlike anything Erlo thought it would be, a red and evil device that seems made to kill. Around the room, the guards draw their stun batons. The Viceroy signals them down.

“What brings you to my home, Lord Vader?” He speaks cordially, like a masked monster _didn’t_ just storm into the room and threaten him. The Viceroy’s expression remains calm. Erlo admires that.

“Don’t play coy with me.” Vader marches forward, inching closer to the Viceroy at the other end of the room. Erlo draws his baton, making to strike.

“Stand down, soldier.” The words are sharp and come from his father. Erlo exhales deeply, holding his position. _Bravery is different than bravado._ He flicks the switch, disengaging the current. “Return to the barracks.”

“She told me that you were there when she had her children.” Vader ignores their exchange, and Erlo catches his father's eye. It was a direct order. He should leave. But... “If you tell me what you know about them, I’ll let you and your pathetic family survive.” Something flickers in the Viceroy’s face, but he doesn’t back down.

“You will have to be more specific.” He blinks calmly, not displaying a hint of fear. “Who are you talking about?” The dark lord inches even further forward, passing the first row of guards. Erlo’s father holds up a hand, folding two fingers, then his thumb. A signal. ‘Now’. Closed fist, then the same signal. Erlo shakes his head. 

“You know.” The three middle fingers on his hand, then pointer and thumb. Pinky finger thrice. “I’m sure you received word of her death. I didn’t exactly hide the body.” ‘Garden’. Two fingers, then thumb. ‘Now.’ The garden? Vader makes a strange growling noise, a hiss of frustration distorted by his mask. “Padmé Amidala. Your old friend.”

“Padmé is dead?” Dismay enters the Viceroy’s voice, and his calm mask cracks. ‘Garden. Now. Hurry.’ “I had no idea... I’m sorry for your loss.” Wait, what? Erlo wrestles with everything he knows about the Viceroy, the Naboo senator, and the Emperor’s attack dog. None of them are even remotely connected outside the Viceroy and the senator’s friendship.

“I know you’re hiding something.” Vader is nearly upon the Viceroy now. ‘Troops. The Princess. Hide.’ The hand signals are making less and less sense. “She told me...” the man’s voice breaks off in an anguished cry and he leaps, flying at the Viceroy. “You have her! And you know!” 

A guard leaps in front of blade, falling instantly as it parts his flesh like warm butter. Erlo is frozen, unmoving. He doesn’t know whether to scream or throw up or cry. Maybe all three. But the fight isn’t done yet. Someone hits Vader with a stun baton, and then goes down with a scream as he’s run through the gut. The dark lord thrusts out his off hand and a man slams into the wall, then slides down to floor where he lays unmoving. The two honor guards maneuver the Viceroy around the carnage and out the door. His father hits Erlo on the helmet.

“Move, son! Now!” He blinks, seemingly far away and locked in this moment. And then his feet follow and his father locks the door behind them and all three are running down the hall. The door bursts open when they’re a few corridors away, echoing throughout the building. 

“We’re out of time!” They stop, breathing hard. The Viceroy has a determined look on his face. “You need to get my daughter to safety. She’s the one they’re after.” The other honor guard, Listle, grips his baton even tighter.

“I’ll send a squad for her and they’ll meet us on the platform.” Erlo’s father shakes his head.

“We can’t fight this.” He turns to the Viceroy. “I’ve heard stories of hundreds of men, dead at Vader’s hand. He’s too powerful for us to oppose. Any number of guards would be overwhelmed.” The Viceroy nods gravely.

“What do you propose we do, then, captain?” Listle asks. There’s a hardness in his voice, and Erlo can tell he’s put off by the whole situation. Erlo’s father sighs.

“We will take you, Viceroy, and your wife, to the platform. Your daughter will be sent into the city, which should buy enough time for an escape. Once she’s off planet it will be far easier to evade imperial forces. Rij’s intel indicates large numbers of carriers leaving their outposts. They’ll be here in a matter of minutes, so we’ll have to move quickly.” The Viceroy nods again, but Listle still looks skeptical.

“And who, exactly, are we going to send with the princess? How will they sneak out of the palace?” A brief smile touches Erlo’s father’s lips.

“We have a skilled junior guardsman who’s snuck out of the palace on more occasions than one to run flightsims in the city.” Erlo would’ve been more shocked and concerned if he hadn’t just seen a room full of guardsmen slaughtered by a nightmare. “My son will protect the princess.” Listle snorts.

“He’s barely more than a boy and we’re trusting him with the future of Alderaan?” No one responds to him. Erlo looks at all of the men surrounding him. His father’s face is set in grim determination. Listle’s expression is one of disdain and disbelief. The Viceroy is studying him, as if searching for something.

“Can you keep my daughter safe?” Erlo nods, trying to ignore his rising panic. The image of the dark creature descending on the little princess steadies him. He will not let that happen, honor guard or no.

“I will do everything in my power to protect her, sir.” The man releases a long breath, then offers him an object. A dagger. One that has long been considered ceremonial- a knife given by the guard to a consort generations ago. Ergo takes it, baring the glittering steel. Different legends claim it to be Mandalorian iron, cast from a meteor, a gift from the gods. It’s a weapon. And it carries much more weight than the physical.

“You are her defender, then. And you know what this blade means.” Erlo snaps the knife onto his belt, scared and resolved and feeling anything but brave. But he has to try. “May the Force be with you, Erlo River.” Footsteps, running down the hallway towards them.

“And you.” The three men hurry away down the left fork, leaving Erlo with his mind spinning. Then he turns and runs, unsaid goodbyes to his father hanging from his lips.

* * *

Vader pauses at the intersection, the Force swirling around him in chaos and bloodshed. 

She is here.

But so is he.

Punish or find? He will do both, in the end, but which shall he do first?

A tug. They’re closing in on his daughter, but... 

Vader snarls and takes the right fork. There’s a chance. Minimal. But a chance. A chance that he won’t take again.

* * *

Rain drums on the roof and Ryoo drums her fingers on the table. Luke is upstairs taking a nap, Pooja occupied in her bedroom. Her parents sit across the table, saying nothing. She is patient. They’ll have to say something, eventually. Or she will. Either way, someone will explain. 

“We didn’t intend for you to find out this way,” her father begins, his tone apologetic. There’s tea on the table but no one is drinking it.

“You didn’t intend for me to find out at all.” It’s accusatory and inflammatory, exactly the sort of phrase her diplomacy teacher said would’ve warned her to stay away from. Ryoo’s not feeling very diplomatic.

“And do you know why?” Her mother’s voice is hard, and for a moment Ryoo feels a flicker of guilt. This isn’t an easy time for her mother. Not an easy time for any of them, really. “All you know is that Luke was born to my sister. Do you know why she gave him up? How she died? How much danger all of you are in?” Ryoo’s father places a hand on her arm. The flicker of guilt becomes a torrent of it. She’s never heard her mother speak like this before, terrified and furious.

“No.” She looks down at her cup of tea. Steam rises from the surface, smelling faintly of herbs. My aunt is dead. My brother is my cousin. The words are foreign and senseless, irrational. But true.

“Ryoo,” and this time her mother’s voice is much gentler. “Do you remember when your aunt came to our house with that Jedi?” She nods, conjuring up blurry images of a tall man and her aunt’s smiling face. “That Jedi’s name was Anakin Skywalker. Once, when he was young, he helped save Naboo. He and your aunt were close, but none of us knew how close until after the war ended.” 

“I’ve heard of him,” Ryoo says to her cup, nodding. “He was a general. A really good one.” Her mother sighs.

“He was. Fair to his men, honorable, and he won several important victories. But...” Ryoo glances up at her mother, finding an unreadable look on her face. It’s conflicted, at the very least. “I suppose I should just start from the beginning. Shortly after the war started, your aunt married the Jedi. It was secret; your aunt had her career and he had his commitments to the order. About three years later, your aunt became pregnant.” 

“How did they get married? Don’t you have to sign a bunch of things? Didn’t the Jedi read minds?” Her mother shrugs.

“I’m just telling you what she told me. Apparently, your aunt’s husband- I suppose he would be your uncle, began to have visions of her death in childbirth. A dark Jedi, something called a Sith, convinced him that the only way to save her was to pledge himself to the evil teachings and destroy all of the Jedi. And he did.” Ryoo’s head is spinning. Out of all of the things she could’ve come up with, all of the guesses as to what her aunt was doing and why... she never could’ve come close to this. 

“That’s when things went wrong. An order was given to every clone trooper to wipe out their Jedi commanders. Your uncle went first to the Jedi temple, where he slaughtered all he found, and then to the lava planet of Mustafar to finish off the separatist leadership. His best friend survived the purge and was bent on stopping him at all costs. They all ended up on the lava planet, arguing with your uncle and trying to get him to stand down. He attacked your aunt and was engaged by his friend. Your aunt was able to escape with her life to the ship of Bail Organa; the friend was not.” 

“And that’s why she gave us Luke?” Ryoo asks, “To keep him safe from his father?” Her mother nods gravely.

“Padmé always knew that Vader would come for her in the end, and she didn’t want the children there when he did.” Ryoo glares at the cup in her hands, still angry, but no longer at her parents.

“Vader.” Her knuckles whiten around the teacup. “I’ve seen stories about him on the holonet. I didn’t know... is he the one who killed her?”

“We think so. And we’re not sure if he knows about the children yet, or anything about their locations.” Ryoo brings her head up sharply.

“Wait, children? As in... more than one?” Her mother begins to respond, and then there’s a loud knocking at the door. Her parents glance at each other, then Ryoo pushes back her chair. “I’ll get it.” She walks through the hall, trying to calm herself, slow her breathing. Take in all of the new information. Her hand is on the keypad by the time her mother’s words register.

“Wait!” Time slows. Her finger hovers over the keypad, not yet in the motion of pressing. Then the door slides open.

A man stands in front of her, or maybe ‘a man’ is too generous. He’s seventeen, eighteen at most and dressed in all black. A strange object, a half-moon shaped something about seven inches in diameter, hangs from his belt. And his eyes... Shiraya, his eyes! They’re yellow. Disturbingly so. Ryoo composes herself, taking in a deep breath and standing up straight. 

“Can I help you?” The man grins. That somehow makes him more disturbing. 

“I am looking for the residence of Darred and Sola Naberrie.” Ryoo nods.

“Well, you’ve found it.” The man takes a step forward, but Ryoo doesn’t move. She’s not letting him in until she can figure out what the hell he is. “May I ask why?”

“Imperial business. Nothing for you to bother yourself with.” Two can play at that game. She smiles pleasantly, as if the man isn’t currently standing half in the rain.

“I find imperial business fascinating. I’m planning on going into politics, after all.” Ryoo can tell that he’s becoming frustrated. She’s not sure she wants to know what happens when this man become frustrated.

“Who is it, Ryoo?” Her father calls, interrupting the strange man’s reply. Ryoo tilts her head, as if expecting a response.

“They call me Eleventh Brother.” He steps forward now, and Ryoo steps back. There’s no way she wants to end up face-to-face with sir evil eyes. A grin crosses his face, as though he takes delight in making her uncomfortable. “May I come in?” Ryoo glares at him, dropping all pretenses.

“Ryoo?” a tiny voice calls from the top of the stairs. She has to fight hard not to panic and scoop Luke up in her arms, hide him from ‘Eleventh Brother’, who’s evil grin seems to know no bounds. Instead she turns calmly, looking up the stairs to where the small boy rubs sleep from his eyes. 

“Go back to bed, Luke. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” Her brother (or cousin?) freezes, staring at the creepy man standing behind her. 

“But she’s in trouble!” What? 

“Who is?” Ryoo asks, feeling lost. Pooja? 

“The girl! The girl behind the flowers!” Their father steps into the entrance hall, and Ryoo makes her way up the stairs.

“Come on, buddy,” she says, scooping Luke off the steps, “you can tell me all about it in a minute.” She glances at the man in the foyer, still watching her brother like a tooka watches a mouse. His skin is unnaturally pale under the light, his eyes seeming to glow. Luke suddenly buries his head in her shoulder, letting out a small cry. Eleventh brother makes his way fully into the entrance hall.

“Maybe he can tell me about it, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It ought to be worth mentioning that Erlo is older than Ryoo by two or three years. Their halves are also not happening at exactly the same time or in sequential order, but they are happening fairly close together. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, have a good New Years. Let’s hope ‘21 goes significantly better, eh?


	3. Warnings and Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Climbing skills and more creepy ass dark siders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Eleventh Brother creeps on an underage girl to make her uncomfortable because he’s a dick. And Vader’s not exactly winning any mental stability awards either.

Ryoo’s life has changed drastically and not at all. She wakes up, studies her supplementary lessons, plays with her brother and sister, takes walks, and tries not to think about what’s to come. Except now all of these things are accompanied by an Imperial presence in their house pretty much all day. Eleventh Brother has set himself up in the guest room, right across from Ryoo’s bedroom. She keeps her door locked at all times, frequently waking from nightmares of golden eyes shining in the darkness.

In addition to the man who has identified himself as an ‘Inquisitor’, a couple of troopers have stationed themselves around the home both inside and out. Pooja’s given them all nicknames; Sergeant Stupid is the one who shot their riffle bush at three in the morning because he thought it was an intruder, Captain Curtain is the guy who got himself tangled in the sitting room window blinds, Lipless Leon is the guy who never seems to talk, not even to his fellow troopers... there are twelve in total, mostly incompetent.

The worst part about all of it is that Ryoo has no idea what’s going on or why, except vague, shadowy theories. She can’t ask her parents, not when there are hostile ears everywhere, and she can’t ask the imperials herself. They claim to be conducting some sort of investigation, the nature of which was explained in a lecture none of the children were allowed to hear. Which is dumb because Ryoo’s not exactly a child, but she didn’t really put up a fight. Sitting in an enclosed office with Eleventh Brother is not her idea of a good time.

The tension builds for about a week. No one is moving, no one is doing anything, and Ryoo’s getting messages she can’t ignore from programs and schools in Theed. It’s like waiting for a thunderstorm to hit, watching the grey clouds roll in from the distance. She finds herself in the backyard one afternoon, perched on the back step with Pooja beside her and Luke playing in the grass with a toy starfighter.

“How about this one?” Pooja asks, squinting at the datapad in the bright sunlight. “ _‘To Miss Ryoo Naberrie: We would like to remind you that the deadline for application fast approaches! Our school offers one of the finest arts programs in the sector, and spots are filling up quickly. Why not apply today?’”_ Pooja snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure you would love to go there. I’ll put it in the trash.” Ryoo turns to her, concerned.

“What makes you say that?” Pooja drags the message out of sight along with two others. It’s hot out here, making Ryoo wish that shorts or even knee length skirts were part of her wardrobe. But of course that would be ‘scandalous’ and ‘in defiance of our culture’. And all the mothers had to suffer through hot summers, so you have to, too. 

“Seriously, have you ever even met yourself?” The younger girl asks incredulously, “I’ve never seen you voluntarily ‘art’ in your entire life; not songs, not drawing, not embroidery,” Ryoo grins.

“Not futhork calligraphy?” Pooja grins back. It’s nice for things to be normal, smiling with her sister on the back porch, her brother making starfighter noises and running the length of the lawn. And then she’s snapped back to reality with the heavy jolt of ‘her brother’. Her cousin. But... if he’s been her brother since he was born, does it really matter what they call him now? Nothing has changed. Pooja lets out a heavy sigh.

“What’s up with you?” Ryoo shrugs, looking away. “C’mon, you’ve been mopey ever since we got back from mama and papa’s house. Something has to be going on.” 

“It’s ‘come on’. And I’m alright.” Pooja folds her arms.

“I’m not stupid, Ryoo. Is it because auntie Padmé died? And all of the Imperials are here?” Ryoo jumps. Pooja grins, though this grin has an entirely different tone. “Yeah, I know about that. She was a spy, right? And that’s why they’ve come by to ‘investigate’ us?” 

“Pooja!” Ryoo hisses, looking around. Lanky Larry (who has _way_ too much space between his armor plates to be an actual clone) is standing at the far end of the backyard, though he doesn’t appear to be listening too closely. You can’t really tell with the helmets. Pooja holds up her hands in surrender. Ryoo sighs and leans in, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I don’t know what aunt Padmé was doing before she died, and I don’t know why the troopers are here. I can’t tell you everything, or even a lot of things, but I do know-”

“Am I interrupting something?” She jumps, turning around to find Eleventh Brother perched behind them on the porch. Pooja glares openly at the man, and Ryoo can’t find the heart to reprimand her. Luke halts on the grass behind them, fighter poised midair, and starts whispering. She wishes he wouldn’t do that, but no one’s sure why it happens. Or what he’s saying. He stops every time someone gets close enough to hear. Turning back to the inquisitor, she crosses her arms.

“Yes.” As casually as she can muster, Ryoo turns back to Pooja. “Can you read me the next one?” Pooja sighs and picks up the datapad, tapping on the next message.

“ _‘Applications to the Apprentice Legislature open next month’_ ,” she reads, adding, “And this is the last year you’re eligible to join that one.” Ryoo sighs. Does she really want to become a politician? No. Will it help her achieve her goals? Hell yes!

“Add that one to the ‘Maybe’ pile.” Pooja rolls her eyes.

“Creating a ‘Maybe’ pile.” There’s a polite cough from behind them. Ryoo ignores it. “I thought you didn’t want to be a politician?” She shrugs.

“I don’t really know. I had an idea, and then-”

“Excuse me,” Eleventh Brother interrupts, annoyance creeping into his tone, “but I’m afraid that I will have to borrow you for a moment, Miss Naberrie.” Pooja and Ryoo exchange glances. Then Pooja looks at Luke.

“Fine,” the younger girl says, climbing to her feet and adjusting her skirt, “keep looking those over. Mom’ll kill you unless you find at least five.” Eleventh Brother frowns.

“The _other_ Miss Naberrie, please.” Pooja sighs dramatically.

“You need to be more specific.” She glances down at Ryoo. “Have fun. I’m going to see if I can get Luke to stop chanting for a few minutes.” Ryoo nods and takes a deep breath, glancing at the little boy down in the yard. He clutches his starfighter like it’s a lifeline and his lips move almost silently. Then she follows the inquisitor into the house.

Unnervingly, he leads her into the guest bedroom. It’s incredibly dark in there, the curtains and blinds drawn against the sun and the lamps off except for a single reading light on the desk. She hovers near the door after he takes the room’s only chair, the hair rising on her arms. And the room is warm despite the stone walls and lack of light.

“Have a seat, please.” He gestures to the bed. Oh Shiraya. Ryoo crosses her arms and stays where she is. The golden eyes glow across the darkness.

“I’ll stay standing, thank you.” Something twists in Eleventh Brother’s eyes. She doesn’t like it.

“I’d prefer to have you seated for our little chat,” he says, “I wouldn’t want you to get tired, standing there by the door.” Ryoo takes a deep breath.

“In my culture it is considered wildly inappropriate for a young woman to sit on a bed in a dark room, unchaperoned, with an unrelated man.” It’s both a refusal and a question. Ryoo’s always spoken double language. Does this man? “It is also a violation of both imperial and local law to question a minor without their parents or guardians present.” Eleventh Brother grins. _Grins_. 

“Fortunately, my order is not bound by imperial regulation. Nor the customs of your culture.” Would Pooja come if she heard Ryoo scream? Would Ryoo really want her to? “Sit.” It’s an order. Hesitantly, she crosses the room and sits on the very edge of the bed. It brings her within a few feet of the Inquisitor, but at least he’s not also on the bed. She’s thankful, now, for the many layers of clothes she’s wearing. They keep her from shivering. Because the room _is_ cold now, for some reason. Was it just warmer by the door?

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Ryoo makes no response, instead studying the wall behind him. “Do you have any idea why we’re here, Miss Naberrie?” Okay. If this man wants answers, he’ll get answers. Just maybe not the ones he’s looking for.

“You said that you wanted to speak with me, sir.” The Inquisitor growls, (growls?) his eyes flashing.

“Do not play dumb, girl. Answer my questions clearly or face the consequences. Do you know why we’re here?” Stay calm, she tells herself, stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. It’s easier to tell part of the truth than lie.

“Is it about my aunt?” she ask-answers. The Inquisitor smiles.

“Clearly you are more intelligent than you act. Yes, it is about your aunt. Do you know what?” Ryoo doesn’t answer. How much does he know? What should she give away? How can she keep her family safe. The smile vanishes from the Inquisitor’s face as the minutes drag on. “I’m not a patient man.” He leans forward and Ryoo flinches unintentionally. That brings another grin to his pale, wormy lips, and leaves Ryoo cursing herself. 

“She was a spy,” she blurts, “at least, I think so. I never learned that much about what she did after the war.” Eleventh Brother nods. And then he pushes his chair a few inches forward. Ryoo’s at the opposite end of the bed’s foot from him, and he still feels way too close.

“Are you sure you don’t know any other reason? Her baby, perhaps?” Ryoo does her best to model shock.

“Her baby?” She looks down at her lap. “I’m sorry, it’s just... she lost it. Not long after Empire Day.” The chair legs scrape the floor again.

“You and I both know that’s not true, Ryoo.” He’s reached the foot of the bed. “What if I told you that we know where the baby is?” Ryoo doesn’t look up. 

“The baby is dead. We had a funeral up at my grandparent’s house. I could tell you where it was buried, if you’d like.” More chair. The Inquisitor is now a scant foot away, and Ryoo has to hold herself steady. And then something snaps. “Let me ask _you_ a few questions, Inquisitor. If there was a baby, why would she hide it with us, or at all? Why would the Empire even care about it? Why would she have told me, seeing as I was nine at the time?”

“My master,” the Inquisitor says quietly, “is interested in the location of the senator’s children, because he believes them to be born of the late Anakin Skywalker. A Jedi, rumored to be the chosen one.” 

“So there are multiple children now?” Ryoo forces a snort. “Your story doesn’t make any sense. A Jedi and my aunt, a respected senator, having a secret baby? Excuse me, babies. It’s unbelievable.” Something brushes Ryoo’s leg and she shrinks back, looking up involuntarily. Eleventh Brother is right beside her now, his leg touching hers. She pushes off the bed, backing away from him. He follows her to her feet.

“We’ll know soon enough.” Her back hits the wall and he’s still coming. She puts her arms out as if to ward him off, fear rushing through her stomach. He catches her hands and pushes them back against the wall easily. “My master is coming here, and he will reward me.” Sharp toothed grin and yellow eyes and clammy flesh. Ryoo has never, not once in her life, been this close to a man. It seems so surreal, like it’s happening to someone who’s not her.

And then he lets go of one hand to brush a lock of hair out of her face. And she thinks, I should’ve braided it tighter this morning, and remembers that Pooja did her hair. And then it’s all real, way too real and she screams, scratching at the Inquisitor with her free hand. He lets her go and she runs from the room, barely registering the laughter echoing behind her.

She bursts into the backyard, breathless, to find Pooja nowhere to be seen. Luke runs over to her as soon as she’s off the steps, wrapping his arms around her legs. She crouches down and embraces him, trying to hold back tears from her burning eyes. Did he even want anything? Did he know all the answers? Why? Luke mumbles something into her hair, so she lets him go and holds him at arm’s length.

“The bad man is coming.” He looks her directly in the eyes when he says it, the most serious look she’s ever seen on a kid his age. 

“No, no,” she says, trying to soothe him, “the bad man is upstairs. We’re going to be alright, now, we’re going to stay away from him until mom and dad get home.” Luke shakes his head, hugging the toy starfighter to his chest. 

“Her house, too,” he insists, “the bad man in black. With a mask. And yellow eyes.” Ryoo looks at him, concerned. Is this more about the mysterious girl behind the flowers?

“I don’t understand, Luke.” She takes a deep breath. “Do you know where Jah-Jah went?” He points with one hand, refusing to release the ship. It’s an N-1, she thinks. Ryoo’s never been a ship fanatic herself. And she turns to see Pooja, standing beside a tall man she doesn’t recognize. Luke begins to whisper in earnest, and this time she’s close enough to decipher the strange words.

“He’s here, he’s here, he’s here, can you help? He’s cold. He’s cold, I don’t like him, I think I know him.” The man wears a hood, concealing his face in shadow. Not the eyes, though, the insane yellow eyes. Ryoo lifts Luke into her arms, as if that can shield him all of the perceived evils of the world. The man comes down the steps and the light shines off a mask underneath his hood. A mask. She pulls the still-whispering Luke closer, turning to face him.

“Who are you?” Ryoo asks, unable to keep the fear from her voice. The yard is quiet. It’s never this quiet. She turns, and Lanky Larry is gone from his post. There’s only the masked man and Luke and her, insignificantly afraid. She turns back, and the man has stopped right in front of her. 

“I’m sure you can guess.” Many things want to fly from Ryoo’s lips at that response, things like ‘the bastard who murdered my aunt’ and ‘Luke’s father’ and ‘that Jedi I met when I was seven’. Instead, she doesn’t say anything. Luke peeks at the man, then buried his face back in Ryoo’s shoulder. “And I know who you are.”

What now? Should she run? Scream? Hand Luke to his father? Luke’s fingers tighten in her hair, his whispers unceasing. She rubs his back, glancing down with concern. If this guy, and she knows his reputation, takes him, will Luke just whisper forever? It’s indecipherable again, too fast to be coherent. The real question is who he’s talking to.

“You look like her, you know.” Ryoo looks up at the masked man. His expression is hidden by the grotesque, skull-like features. “Younger, obviously. But still...” He’s not the first person to have said it. And sure, their hair and builds are similar. But she’s never seen Ryoo in her aunt’s old holos, nor in the woman herself. Her aunt Padmé was brave and strong and clever. Ryoo’s just some kid trying to pretend that things will be okay, even when she knows they won’t.

“Ryoo.” She looks down to Luke again, because that’s the first decipherable word he’s spoken in several minutes. “She says to run.” That makes her panic, a little, because she doesn’t think it will be possible to run from this man and end up alive. And he hasn’t really done anything wrong yet, besides having really creepy students and a mask. Oh, and the flower girl hates him. The masked man brings up a hand and rests it on Luke’s back beside hers. The toddler turns, quickly, and stares at him.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks, his voice still heavily modulated. Luke nods, eyes wide. He’s still holding the N-1. The man’s hands rise to his head and he removes the mask. Behind it is... nothing. Well, a face. A face not entirely unrecognizable. But not the scars and terror that the holonet has led Ryoo to expect. And he smiles. At his son in her arms, and then at Ryoo. Why? Reality catches up again, like it did when the Inquisitor touched her face, and she shivers in the warm summer air. He killed the Jedi, he killed my aunt, and Luke’s mysterious, prophetic friend doesn’t like him.

“No one good,” Luke whispers, and the first pang of unease only grows.

* * *

Erlo can tell that Vader is following him because of the because of the loud footsteps and occasional terrified shouts coming from behind. He knows that if he ends up within Vader’s sightline, he’s dead. He also knows that if he ends up dead, he’s not just failing the princess. Alderaan will lose their next in line, her parents will lose their daughter, and he will have failed his father. And also disrespect the Blade of the Protector, traditionally worn by the current consort. If someone decides that this makes him the princess’s betrothed, he will stab them with it.

Thousands of hours of training can’t teach you deal with a Sith (whatever the hell _that_ is) breathing down your neck. But Erlo’s resourceful. He slams down security gates as he passes them, pulls over tables, takes secret shortcuts. Only time will tell if it’s enough to make it to the garden first.

He’s nearing the home stretch now, bursting out of a hidden panel into the hallway of light. Massive windows showcase the beautiful plants and walkways that characterize the garden. By Erlo’s estimate, he’s got two minutes before Vader catches up with him. If the holos are anything to go by, he doesn’t want that to happen. So that leaves him one hundred and twenty seconds to find the princess an get the hell out of there. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like it’s goign to be that easy. Because the area is crawling with troopers. At least ten. And Erlo’s limited to close quarters weapons that are non-lethal and more than likely ineffective against armored assailants. 

But... they’re all localized at the far end of the hallway, forming ranks in front of the door and making sure no one can get through. What they don’t know is that the windows in the hallway of light are ancient glass, not shatterproof transparisteel. He’s going to have one shot at breaking the window and hiding among the plants. His vest will protect him from maybe two shots with a blaster at this range. 

There’s no time to come up with a better plan. Erlo switches the current on and runs at the large pane in front of him, putting as much force behind the attack as possible. This breaks him a nice little hole, and he hits the edge which makes a gap large enough to slip through. The troopers down the hallway begin shouting, and a few shots are fired in his direction. Fortunately, he’s off into the bushes before they can really get on his tail.

Excellent. Now how is he going to find the princess in this giant mess of a garden? Calling out to her won’t work, and he doesn’t have time to check everywhere a little kid can fit. 

If Erlo knows one thing about kids, it’s that they’re absolutely terrible at hide and seek. And they love to hide in the same place more than once. The princess, he recalls, is the same way. When he played with her, she had the whole garden to choose from and she hid behind the yellow riffle bush every single time. It’s as good a lead as any, and so he takes the most direct route to the bush he can remember, crashing through flower beds and carefully tended ponds. He says a silent apology to the gardeners, then decides that they probably won’t care at this point. 

And, finally, there it is; a bush of small, yellow flowers surrounded by other hedges and shrubs. It’s close to the garden wall and there’s a tiny gap behind it. Small enough for, say, a scared little girl. Erlo approaches slowly, ears open for the sound of troopers approaching. Vader has to have arrived by now, but with any luck he won’t lower himself to personally searching the grounds.

“Hello?” he calls, pulling the branches aside. He sees a tiny, brown haired girl curled into a ball. And then he sees very little, because said girl was apparently crouching in preparation of attack. Erlo can’t stop the startled, “Hey!” that escapes his lips. The princess pushes and kicks at him, mostly ineffectually once he’s gotten his bearings. “Stop! Your father sent me to get you out of here.” 

The attack ceases, the princess looking up at him with wide brown eyes. 

“The bad man is coming.” Erlo gives her a confused look. How does she know that? Then he decides to worry about it later.

“Yes, a very bad man is coming. We have to escape before he gets here.” He grabs her hand, but she pulls away from him, stepping towards the wall.

“What if you’re bad?” Erlo sighs, hearing the shouts and footfalls of troops drawing closer.

“I’m not, I’m one of the honor guard.” The princess still looks unconvinced. He pulls out the knife clipped to his belt and shows it to her. “Your father gave this to me. He told me to protect you.” She looks at the knife, then at him. Then she nods and takes his hand. Okay, mission accomplished. He’s found the princess, now to get her out of here.

The platforms will be locked down, and Erlo’s not exactly confident enough in his abilities to break through a blockade. His father said something about smuggling her into the city, though it would be better to get the princess off planet... without warning, Erlo turns and lifts the princess into his arms. It breaks about three hundred and forty-seven protocol rules, but no one’s counting. She gives him a surprised look, but doesn’t cry out.

“Can you hold onto my back?” he asks, and she nods. After a few adjustments, he runs up to the garden wall and its faux brick exterior and begins to climb. The princess is choking him out with a steel tight grip to the neck, but he’s more grateful that she can hold on than anything else. They’re a few feet from the top when the plan begins to crack.

“Halt!” Oh look, the troopers have finally figured out where they are. Erlo ignores them and keeps climbing. Just a little further... and then a blaster bolt slams into the wall beside him. The princess does scream now, but she doesn’t let go.

“Hold on,” he wheezes, pulling himself up even further. The depth of the mortar joints is far too shallow for him to climb this quickly. Thank the gods, just this once, for PT. Just one, maybe two feet until the top. More bolts follow the first, then suddenly cease. They don’t want to hit the princess. “We’re going to make it.”

His hands find the top of the wall, and he manages to pull himself up the rest of the way. A stun bolt hits the concrete behind him. People are gathered around the bottom of the wall, pointing at smoke that’s begun to pour from the palace. Rij, Listle, Tama, his father... he swallows hard and turns to begin the descent. 

“Jump!” someone shouts, some random citizen in the crowd, “We’ll catch you!”

“Troopers are coming!” Someone else yells, quickly followed by,

“Can we block them?” The patriotism is reassuring, if mostly useless. Erlo descends hand over hand, hearing more stun blasts strike the wall beside him. Aren’t stormtroopers supposed to be accurate? People scream and shout and talk. There’s a massive hoard of humanity to his back and not all of them are friendly.

“Move it kid!” He drops the last two feet to the ground, landing in a crouch. People scatter as though he has a disease, and he begins to move as quickly as he can.

“Long live the Queen!” Someone grabs at the princess on his back and he shifts quickly, swinging her back around to the front. She’s whispering, but what he cannot tell. Maybe a prayer?

“Everybody go home. This isn’t our business.” Something heavy lands on him, and it takes him a minute to stop fighting off the attacker and realize it’s a cloak. An old woman with one milky white eye nods at him. He tries to thank her but she’s quickly swallowed by the crowd.

“Down with the Empire.” He’s reached the mouth of an alley, the edge of the crowd. Troopers are still combing the mass, shouting orders. High on the wall perches a lone figure dressed in black. The sun glints off his mask. Erlo turns and runs in earnest.

“Why is he running if he’s innocent?” He puts the princess down once they’re far enough from the crowd and she folds her arms around his legs, beginning to cry. Guilt and a number of other emotions ripple in his stomach, but he shoves them away. _There’s time to feel later._ He pulls on the cloak, putting up the hood, and lifts the girl back into his arms.

“It’s, uh, going to be okay. We’re... safe now.” The words are clunky. He’s never really dealt with crying kids before, let alone crying little girls whose entire worlds have fallen apart. What would my father say? he wonders. The little girl hides her face in his shoulder, and he pats her on the back. What did his father do? If he hurt himself during training it was usually something along the lines of ‘Pain is weakness leaving the body’. He never really liked that, and it doesn’t seem appropriate here.

Erlo leans against the wall and sighs. He’s not trained for this. He’s not ready. He’s not prepared. He’s going to get captured and killed horribly. _With an attitude like that, you will._ Okay. If there’s one thing he knows how to do, it’s to think like a criminal. He knows protocol, common mistakes, shady spots in the city... the training was to help him fight crime. Foil plots. Protect.

Now it’s time for him to become his own enemy. Okay, he starts, if I was trying to smuggle a kidnapped princess off-world, where would I start? His mind goes blank. Okay, if _a criminal_ was trying to smuggle the princess off-world, what would _they_ do? The roughspun material of the cloak rubs against his neck. Disguises. The criminal would disguise himself.

So that’s what Erlo must do.

* * *

A pile of stormtrooper bodies on the ground before him. Vader curls his lip. Failures.

“Sir?” The messenger’s voice is cautious. Full of fear. Good. 

“Out with it,” he snarls, disengaging his lightsaber. The messenger gulps.

“One of the Inquisitors has a message for you,” she says, “from Naboo.” She pauses, takes in the scene. “Shall... shall it wait until later?” Vader spins, immediately heading for the door.

“I will take it now.”

Perhaps this day has not been entirely useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oya! Hope you liked that chapter. Is Eleventh Brother a total hatface? Yes. Is Vader more than a little creepy and mentally disturbed? Hell yes. 
> 
> ACTUAL IMPORTANT NOTE ABOUT THE FIC: We’re moving to a regular update schedule of every Friday. (Maybe every other Friday, my irl schedule is glitching the fuck out) Okay, you can go back to ignoring me now.
> 
> I’d appreciate some feedback whether you loved it or hated it. Little known fact; fanfiction writers power themselves with comments and the blood of canon. And autocorrect seems determined to rename Erlo ‘Ergo’, so if you see something, say something.
> 
> Alright, now that I’m done begging for reviews, have a Happy New Years!


	4. Shots and Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go to shit and Erlo does fashion.

Erlo once thought he knew what it felt like to feel overly conspicuous. Now, sitting on a public transport with a despondent toddler on his lap, he longs for the good old days three hours ago when he still had to worry about silly things like his guard uniform and tradition. 

The ship is huge. One of the ancient behemoths that carries a cargo of life from system to system, packed to the gills from the bottom up. There are tiny painted off squares on the ground for each passenger. Some large families share just a pair of tiles, eight or nine people crowded into a ten by four square. Erlo has no luggage, only the princess. He bought his single block from a frantic passenger on the docks who had purchased the wrong ticket by mistake. The droids on this kind of craft don’t care who has the pass as long as they have one. 

That doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t have nearly enough food or bedding for this kind of journey, nor even a change of clothes. Yeah, he should find them some disguises, but in his creditless reality it’s not that simple. He still wears his guard uniform (he traded the helmet and turned the vest inside out, but it’s still quite obvious) and the princess is still wearing the same grass-stained white dress she had on when he found her. Fortunately, none of the passengers seem to care about their fellow humans either. 

But for how long? Erlo’s not naive, the ship off Alderaan is only the first in a series of long and perilous journeys. He doesn’t even know where the hell he’s going, let alone where he can find help. No doubt there will be bounties on their heads and imperials chasing after them. He rests his hand on the hilt of the knife and sighs.

“Are you hungry, young man?” Erlo jumps, turning towards the unexpected question. No one’s spoken to him since he left the crowd outside the palace. He pulls the little princess closer, wary. The speaker is an old woman, wearing ragged traveling clothes. She’s wispy and her face is kind, and she smiles at him reassuringly. Unease flickers in his gut. What if it’s a trap? The princess stirs in his arms.

“Is there enough for me?” It’s the first time she’s spoken in several hours. Well, other than the intermittent whispering. Erlo thinks she might be in shock. He looks the old woman over a second time. She’s sitting right next to them anyway, it’s not like taking food will change anything. The woman laughs, and it’s a good laugh. He scoots tentatively across the dirty tiles of the floor.

The woman seems to own one square as well, although she’s traveling with enough luggage to suggest more than one person. She rummages around in a green messenger bag, finally removing a small loaf of bread and a tin of some strange-looking spread. He takes the proffered food and examines it. Detecting poison was not covered in basic training. But he _is_ hungry...

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he says, trying to convey as much meaning as possible. She can’t possibly know what he’s on the run from or how he got to this ship, but this bread might be all he has to eat for a while. She nods, pulling out a small bit of something and nibbling on it.

“You have a young one to feed,” she says, “and I have plenty of food for Khereda and I.” Erlo shrugs at that, splitting the load in half and spreading some of the paste on it. It’s thick and white, almost like frosting, and it carries the strong taste of fermentation. It’s also the first thing he’s eaten today, having forgone breakfast out of nerves. 

The princess scoots out of his lap and takes her half of the bread. She sniffs the it, then takes a small bite. It’s gone quicker than he would’ve expected. She looks up at the old woman, who looks back with equal intensity.

“I’m Leia. That was good food. Do you have more?” Erlo stares at her. Shouldn’t she be more mannerly? Know better? She’s a freaking princess! Maybe little kids are just naturally rude.

“Pr-er, Leia, that’s not very nice.” How do you reprimand kids? Is this supposed to be a teaching moment? The little girl glances at him, and then smiles at the older woman sheepishly.

“Sorry. Please.” Well, that’s not what he was going for but it’s good enough for him. The old woman smiles.

“Yes, you may have some more.” She hands her a few pieces of what looks to be dried fruit, which the little girl gnaws on appreciatively. The woman turns back to Erlo, shaking her head. His face heats up.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “we’re, uh, still working on please and thank you.” 

“It is quite alright, dear. I did not make it this far by snapping at children and I am not going to make a habit of it now. She will learn.” A grey-haired man comes walking down the aisle beside the wall, carrying a jug of some sort. He plops it down next to the woman, eyeing Erlo and the princess. “You found the water, I presume?” 

“It’s down by the washrooms. There’s already a line.” He takes a seat on the floor next to the woman. “I see you’ve made some friends.” The woman smiles.

“I have indeed.” She gestures at them. “This is Leia and her mysterious friend.” Erlo blushes. 

“I’m, um,” Should he use a fake name? Leia-the princess, already used her real one. “Erlo. Erlo River.” The woman nods.

“You are Alderaani.” At his surprised look, she continues, “Your names, dear. And you got on this lumbering freighter back on Alderaan.” He smiles.

“You’re observant, Ma’am.” The man shakes his head, and the woman swats him on the arm. 

“Thank you.” The woman says. Leia- _the princess_ , scoots closer against Erlo and watches the old couple with wide eyes. “You are on the run, yes?” Erlo’s eyes widen, and he wraps an arm around Leia-oh, damn it, _Leia_. 

“I... don’t know what would make you think that.” The old woman gestures to his ragged appearance.

“We received news back in that spaceport that someone had kidnapped the princess of Alderaan. You two fit the description of the girl and her captor.” Erlo opens his mouth to argue, but the old woman continues, “Fear not, we have no intention of turning you in. Not all of us believe the lies of the Emperor’s dogs.” The old man nods at him.

“You wear the Blade of the Protector.” Erlo glances down at the knife and its intricate yet utilitarian design. How did he know? 

“Are you Alderaani?” The man shakes his head.

“No longer. But I lived there as a boy. Long enough to recognize an honor guard when I see one.” He looks down at the princess. “I don’t know what the dogs want from the girl, but I do know when that one gets involved it’s no good. There’s not much we can do to help you, but there is something.” The old man digs through a different bag and pulls out a few articles of clothing, tossing them to Erlo.

“I can’t take your clothes!” he protests, staring at the roughspun fabric in his hands. Leia runs her hands over it to feel the texture and begins to whisper. 

“They are not our clothes,” the old woman says, “they are our son’s. He travelled with us for many months, but his journey is over now. Something in there should fit you, and look a sight less conspicuous than your guard’s uniform.” _In reality it’s not that simple._ Unless it is. Though even this is complicated.

“Are you sure?” The couple look at each other, taking hands, and nod. Erlo sighs. “You... I... thank you.” 

“You are welcome.” Ergo heads to the refreshers with his stack of clothing, Leia holding tightly to his hand. They’re crowded and already disgusting, men clamoring to be heard and find open, functioning vacc tubes. He lifts Leia into his arms before stepping in, the bundle of clothes making an odd, bulky mass that he now has to move through the room with. It’s worth it for his peace of mind. He didn’t want to leave her with the couple, even if they seem trustworthy. 

A Twi’lek near the entrance gives him a weird look, between the kid and his bundle. He gets the sense that this is not a man to mess with; tattoos, filed teeth and what appear to be _broken, spikey chains_ wrapped around his lekku. Erlo’s not really sure how to respond, but there are people behind him so he keeps moving.

“You are really bringing a little girl in here?” Erlo takes a step backwards, because the Twi’lek is not looking remotely friendly. “What are you doing with her, huh?” Erlo sighs. Should he try the acting skills again? That worked _so_ well on Vader...

“Listen, dude, this is... my niece. She had to pee. I can’t take her in the women’s fresher, and I’m sure as hell not sending her in there alone.” It gets easier once he gets going. “We’re going to get in and get out, alright?” The Twi’lek frowns, then looks down at Leia.

“Is this your uncle, girl?” Leia blinks at the man, and Erlo prepares himself for a fight. But she nods.

“I have to go!” she shouts. Apparently, she’s a much better actor than Erlo because the Twi’lek nods.

“You never know.” And, mercifully, they make it to a stall without further issue. He has Leia close her eyes while he changes, his new outfit increasing his temperature by about ten degrees almost instantly. It’s nice, actually. The clothes fit better with his cloak anways. The real question is what to do with his uniform.

He puts the blaster-resistant vest on underneath the shirt; it’s rather loose so he can get away with this. He hangs his pants over the stall door, but they disappear while he’s putting on the replacement pair. Erlo’s fresh out of fucks to give about the pants other than a fleeting sense of annoyance. It’s not like they’re worth anything. Actually, whoever took them is helping get rid of the evidence. 

He’s left with his undershirt and uniform shirt when an idea strikes him. There’s a sash that came with the clothes, and he clips the dagger to that.

“Leia, you can turn around now.” She does, examining him with a critical eye. Then she runs her hand over the wooly cloak.

“It’s hairy.” He smiles. Then she examines her own outfit, stained and fraying. “Are there clothes for me?” He holds up the undershirt.

“You can wear this like a tunic.” Erlo frowns at it. Little more than a tank top, really. He’s startled from his thought by a loud pounding on the door behind him. If there’s anything worse than getting caught by the Empire, it’d be getting pounded into the floor by some random meathead who really had to use the vacc. “Okay, maybe later.” The little girl folds her arms stubbornly.

“I smelllllll,” she whines, plucking at her own dress again. The door shudders as something behind him _roars_. Loudly. Just his luck. 

“Make you a deal,” he says, “we’ll come back later and wash your clothes in the sink, then figure out what to do. Got it?” Leia’s tiny toddler face is folded into a stubborn expression.

“I don’t want to.” Erlo sighs, the door creaking feebly.

“Leia, if we don’t leave now that guy’s going to bust down the door. You can’t change here if he busts down the door. If we come back later, no one will be trying to bust down the door and you can change. Alright?” She sighs dramatically. 

“Okay.” 

>⇟<

Water sloshes in the semi-quiet of the men’s refreshers. The lights are dimmed for the ship’s night cycle and most people are sleeping. Erlo’s shirts are clean and he’s currently washing out Leia’s dress. It’s quite a novel experience to be rubbing sanitizing solution into clothes and rinsing them out, all with the limited amount of spare water he took from their rations. Luckily, the clothes dry quickly when draped over heating vents.

Leia’s wrapped up in the traveling cloak, half asleep on the metal counter. The sanitizer seems to be doing a pretty good job of getting the stains out. There are only two other people in the room, one of whom is pacing around wildly and the other of whom has been locked in a stall since Erlo got in there. 

“Mr. River?” Leia’s voice is so quiet that he thinks she might just be whispering again at first. “Are we going to go home soon?” Erlo sighs, putting the dress down in the tub of water. What should he tell her?

“I... I don’t know if we’re going to go home at all.” The look she gives him after he says that is enough to break his heart. He scoots down the counter closer to her.

“I want my mama. And my daddy.” She curls up, knees to chest. And then she starts to cry. Erlo’s mind goes blank for a second time. He really, really wishes that his charge was not a crying four old. Hell, he might’ve been able to handle the tears if she was just slightly older, but kids are not his thing. 

“I know, I know. I miss my dad, too.” He pats her on the shoulder, feeling useless. Footsteps walk up behind him. It’s whoever’s been pacing. They’re wearing a helmet that obscures their features, but their body language suggests that they’re not a threat.

“You’re pretty terrible at this, kid.” Erlo’s hand drops to his dagger, though what it’s going to do against someone who, upon closer inspection, is wearing an entire suit of armor, he’s not sure. The armored being laughs, a rusty sound somewhere between humor and pain. “When kids cry, you hold them. Honestly, didn’t you have any siblings? Sibling’s kids? Cousins?” Erlo looks down at the floor.

“No.” He turns to Leia and holds out his arms, but she just scrunches tighter to the wall. Erlo sighs. “I’m not good at kids. I’m supposed to be a warrior, not a nanny droid.” The armored being shakes their head. 

“There’s no reason why a warrior has to limit it to fighting. You gotta take care of the future.” They gesture to Leia. “She’ll be a warrior when you’re gone, so you’ve got to make sure she turns out alright.” 

“I don’t know if I can do that.” He sits on the counter next to Leia. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be a dad.” The armored being slaps him on the shoulder.

“Kid, we’re never ready.” The door to the refresher slides open behind them, admitting another armored being. “Good luck. You’ll figure it out.” And then they walks away to join their compatriot. Erlo sighs and leans his head up against the wall. Leia sniffles, almost cried out.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry that we can’t go home, and I’m sorry that we had to leave your mom and dad behind. But they wanted you to be safe, so that’s what you’re going to be. I won’t let the Empire hurt you, or anyone else.” She studies him, her eyes red and her nose running. A memory rushes back to him, cool water and a cloth. Someone speaking softly. Erlo grabs his now-dry uniform shirt and dips part of it into the clean water. He wrings it out and then tries to make comforting motions, wiping her eyes and nose. Miraculously, it seems to work.

“Have you seen the shiny man?” she asks suddenly, pushing the shirt away from her face. Her eyes are fixed on a point behind them, but when Erlo turns he can’t see anything. “He’s talking.” Erlo steps away, trying to look at the spot from a new angle. “Oh, you can’t see him.” She’s not scared now, not sad. More... curious. “Wait, where are-” She slumps back into the folds of the cloak. “He’s gone. He was warm.” 

Whatever that was, Erlo does not have the time to figure it out. He finishes washing the shirt and then he examines his options. His uniform shirt is way too structured to work as clothes for her, and the princess’s dress is way too conspicuous. And, despite his best efforts, stained. So he’s got the undershirt, which just might work.

After knotting the straps, he helps Leia pull the brownish-green shirt over her head. It hangs to her shins, which works to his favor, but she’ll be cold without sleeves. He examines her dress, which gathers at the waist and buttons up the back. With a few quick slashes of the dagger, she’s now wearing an undershirt under the undershirt. 

“It’s clean,” he says. She pulls at the fabric of the shirt and frowns.

“It looks gross.” Erlo sighs. What can he say to that?

“It... it’s a warrior’s shirt. It helps you blend in better.” She brightens at that.

“Am I really a warrior?” she asks, “Like the helmet guy said?” Thank the gods.

“Of course you are.” He smiles, and allows himself to relax, just a little. Maybe he can deal with kids after all.

* * *

A hand closes over Ryoo’s mouth. She jerks awake, trying to shout, visions of Eleventh Brother and the masked man rushing through her head. It’s Pooja. Letting out a muffled sigh of relief, she puts a hand on her sister’s arm. Pooja shakes her head, gesturing to the door. The living room door. Why is she asleep in the-

It all comes rushing back. Ryoo’s gaze pivots to the spot on the couch beside her. Luke is gone. She jumps to her feet, knocking Pooja’s arm away. Did the Vader take him when she finally drifted off? Did their parents get home? How long has she been asleep? She’s quick to follow Pooja, who leads them into the pantry right off the kitchen. It’s a stone room and quite cold. 

“Where’s Luke? Mom and dad?” Pooja shakes her head, and Ryoo realizes she’s shaking and on the verge of tears. “Hey, it’s alright. You’re fine, I’m here.” She hugs her, stroking her hair. “We’re fine. We’re alright. Can you please tell me what happened?” Fear tints the edges of her voice, but Pooja hopefully won’t notice. She sits on the fear, tries to ignore it.

“I- I thought-” Pooja sobs, “T-That you were _dead_!” Ryoo holds her tighter, trying to stay calm. Was she stunned? She remembers going into the living room with Luke and the masked man, Luke falling asleep on the couch, the man leaving... when did she fall asleep? 

“Pooja, I fell asleep. I’m alright. I’m safe. Right now, Luke’s not. Can you tell me what happened?” Pooja takes a few deep breaths, wiping the tears from her face.

“He’s in the Brother’s room. The masked guy walked out of the room holding him and I could only see your arm dangling and it took me a while to go in there and I thought you were dead so I-” Ryoo pulls her back in. Okay. Luke’s with Eleventh Brother. Not good. But she can probably deal with that, especially if mask man doesn’t want him dead.

“It’s okay. We’ll go get Luke in a minute.” She steels herself, then asks, “Did mom and dad make it home?” Pooja shakes her head.

“I don’t know where they are. They aren’t answering their comms.” Not good. 

“Do you know where all of the imperials are?” Pooja shakes her head.

“The masked guy, who I found out is called Vader, and him being here is definitely a bad thing, by the way- he left the house after he took Luke upstairs. Eleventh Brother is in his room, and all the troopers are in their usual spots. They wouldn’t let me leave to find mom and dad.” 

“Okay,” Ryoo says, “we’re going to rescue Luke, then we’re going to hang out in my room until mom and dad come home. They’ll know what to do.” Of course, if the stories she’s heard about Vader are true, they aren’t coming home. But she doesn’t need to tell Pooja about that. Her sister nods, and they slip out of the pantry and head upstairs, the eyes of Tarl (a generic guy who seems to have no discernible personality) boring into their retreating backs. As they round the corner, Ryoo sees two troopers stationed outside Eleventh Brother’s room.

She holds up a hand, and Pooja stops. The troopers don’t seem to have spotted them. 

“What are we going to do now?” Pooja asks, eyes wide. Ryoo closes her eyes. But before she can reassure her sister or come up with a plan, one of the troopers speaks.

“Do you know what’s so special about this kid?” His voice is clone-familiar and marked by the accent. The sisters exchange glances. 

“They never tell us anything.” The trooper sighs, the sound weird and distorted by his helmet. “Good soldiers follow orders. We don’t ask questions.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of killing people? I mean, there’s those girls downstairs. They didn’t know what their parents were doing. Are we going to kill them for having a brother?” Pooja squeezes hard on Ryoo’s hand. 

“We’re going to do what we have to. If we let those kids go, they’re going to want revenge. We’ve got to get everyone or else the whole Empire goes down.” Ryoo’s stomach churns with horror. You, she vows, are not getting my sister. You’re not getting my brother. And you’re not getting me. How she’s going to accomplish that vow remains to be seen.

“I guess you’re right.” Ryoo steps around the corner, walking towards the troopers with a sense of purpose. One of them, a guy with a little smattering of blue around his helmet they call Petal Head, holds up a hand. “Stop right there. This is a restricted area.” Ryoo stops, folding her arms. Don’t be afraid. You’ve probably got half of one of them on your side already.

“My little brother is in there,” she explains, “can I please make sure he’s alright?” The other trooper, Captain Curtain, doesn’t even hesitate before replying,

“No.” She takes a deep breath in and then lets it go. It’s not like she can make them let her in, and they have weapons. Even if she had a blaster, she wouldn’t know how to use it. Why couldn’t her parents have just let her take those damned self-defense classes? It’s not over yet, though. 

“Please.” Panic creeps back up, spilling into her voice. “I don’t even have to go in- one of you can ask. I have to know that he’s okay.” She thinks that Petal Head might be wavering. He turns to Captain Curtain, lowering his gun.

“Sergeant...” Captain Curtain (Sergeant Curtain?) shakes his head.

“Go away before we are forced to escort you.” Ryoo’s hands curl into fists. She can’t leave Luke in there. She can’t fight two heavily armed troopers. Then a loud and decisive crash echoes throughout the house. All three of them pause, looking towards the stairwell. The two troopers put hands to their helmets, obviously receiving communication. “Fierfek,” Captain Curtain spits, knocking on the guest room door. 

Eleventh Brother opens it, looking wide awake despite the late hour.

“There’s been a disturbance in the yard outside, sir. Jogan is not responding.” The Inquisitor sighs, his expression one of exasperation. And then his golden eyes land on Ryoo.

“What is the girl doing here?” Petal Head shifts uncomfortably.

“She came up here a few minutes ago looking for the asset.” The Inquisitor grins, but another crash echoes from the yard, wiping the expression from his face. Ryoo flattens herself against the wall as he runs past, Captain Curtain rushing off to follow him. Petal Head stands alone in front of the guest room door, his expression unreadable. She leans against the wall. Maybe I can take out just one? “You’ve got some stones, kid, ignoring the Sergeant like that.” 

“I’m not going to give up. You’ve got my brother in there, and I’m not leaving until I know he’s safe.” Petal Head sighs.

“I’ve got brothers, too. I know how you feel. But you can’t go in, it’s against our orders.” Ryoo frowns.

“Whose orders?” 

“Lord Vader.” He sighs. “Look, if it makes you feel better we’ve also been told not to harm him. Even that Inquisitor psychopath wouldn’t dare go against him.”

“It _doesn’t_ make me feel better, actually.” She stares pointedly at the floor. “I’ve heard stories about Vader. Even if he doesn’t kill Luke, he can’t have anything good planned.” Petal Head doesn’t say anything. Ryoo wonders if he’s one of Vader’s personal troopers. Vader’s Fist, they call them. The best of the best. How is it that this one is having second thoughts? “Vader’s his father.” The trooper stays silent. “My brother. That’s why he came looking for him. He killed my aunt and I guess she told him where Luke was.” Petal head shifts his weight.

“He’s fair to his men,” he says, “I’ve fought under him since the beginning. When he went by a different name.” Ryoo looks up at him, at the visionless black visor. “That doesn’t count for much to a natborn like you, but loyalty is all that matters when you’re raised to be a soldier. He’s loyal to me so I follow my orders. Even the ones I don’t want to. Or else I’ll be the dead one.” 

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing else to say. She thinks of the Jedi temple, where her parents said many of that order were slaughtered. Was this guy there? Following orders? Did he have a choice? Does she? Petal Head laughs, like she’s said something amusing.

“Me too, kid. Me too.” 

“What’s your name?” she asks. Clones pick their own names, she remembers. That makes her realize she just asked a very personal question. “You don’t have to tell me,” she adds, “calling you ‘Petal Head’ just seems rude now that I’ve spoken to you.” 

“Petal Head?” He sounds more curious than angry. Ryoo grins a little.

“None of you guys would talk to us, so Pooja came up with a bunch of nicknames.” She points at his helmet. “You’ve got a little bit of blue paint on your armor. She thought it looked like the color of Ryoo flowers, but I told her we couldn’t name one of you that and so you’re Petal Head.” He laughs again, harder this time. 

“Not the worst one I’ve ever heard. My name’s actually Radi, if you’ve got to know. I’m guessing Pooja’s the other one?” Ryoo nods.

“My sister.” Footsteps sound on the stairs, and both fall silent. Captain Curtain rounds the corner first, followed by Eleventh Brother. Eleventh Brother has a tight grip on the arms of Pooja, who looks simultaneously pleased and concerned, her forearms soot-streaked. “Hey, let her go!” The Inquisitor looks murderous.

“This little wench rigged some sort of explosion and then dashed trooper 1788 over the head with a rock.” Pooja squirms in his grip, glaring at him.

“Well, what are you going to do? Throw her in jail? We’re effectively living in one!” The yellow eyes seem to glow. She doesn’t like the look he has on his face.

“I’m going to bring her in for a little chat.” Ryoo knows exactly how those little chats usually go. For once, fear is overwhelmed by anger.

“Stay away from her,” she snarls. The Inquisitor grins. “I’m serious. I’d kill you with my bare hands.” He takes a step towards the door, dragging her sister with him.

“Now, now, no need to act like that.” Ryoo steps forward, anger sending blood rushing through her ears. 

“Let her go! She’s just a kid!” The Inquisitor shakes his head, hitting the button to open the door of the guest room. He can’t be left alone with her. Her and Luke. Ryoo rushes forward before an armored glove closes around her wrist. She yanks, desperately trying to escape the grip of captain curtain. Her attacks fall feebly flat, her fists useless against armored plating. Pinned against the wall, there is one recourse. She shouts, “I’ll tell you what I know! Just let her go!”

“It is far too late for that, Miss Naberrie.” And with that, the sound of the guest room door slashes all of her hopes. Captain Curtain’s plates dig into her. She’s failed. She’s useless. 

Her aunt, if the stories are true, once successfully evaded execution on Geonosis with nothing but the chain she was imprisoned with until her Jedi companions could arrive. Almost singlehandedly escaped Nemoidian custody on Rodia and captured Nute Gunray. Continued to speak out despite threats of execution and unpopularity. Snuck behind Separatist lines in order to attempt peaceful negotiations. 

They might share blood and ambition and a similar face, but Padmé Amidala and Ryoo Naberrie are nothing alike. 

“What is the meaning of this?” The all-too-familiar voice of Vader booms behind her as Captain Curtain places binders on Ryoo’s wrists. Curtain affixes the binders and snaps to attention, Petal- Radi, clicking in a similar fashion somewhere beyond her field of veiw. 

“This one was attempting to gain entry and threatened Eleventh Brother. I thought that retaining her myself would be a better course of action.” Vader does not respond. She doesn’t want to turn around.

Vader wants to kill her parents and take Luke. But she also sat in the living room with him for three hours and he seemed... almost gentle. Kind. He was nice to Luke and polite to her. But the way he examines her face, like he’s looking at someone else... it’s frightening. Because she knows who he’s seeing and who they were to him. She turns, half expecting him to be dripping with blood.

“Bring me my son.” He looks like Vader, terrifying mask and unexposed skin. Radi nods, punching a button on the guest room door. Eleventh Brother appears, carrying the still sleeping Luke. Ryoo knows her brother; he should be awake after the loud explosions and shouting. But he’s not. Did they drug him?

She looks into the guest room through the now open door. Pooja is nowhere to be seen. Would he have killed her? Tortured her? Not in the two minutes since they entered. Luke passes from the Inquisitor to Vader without so much as stirring. Eleventh Brother’s disquieting yellow gaze lands on her again, taking in the binders and fearful expression. He grins.

When Vader is gone with her brother, will they be turned over to the Inquisitor and his sadistic methods of execution? Or will they be thrown onto the streets, parentless and alone, to send a message? Will Vader do it himself? Will it be a blaster bolt or a quick slash of a laser sword or a slow, agonizing affair? She takes a deep breath. She is not brave. She is not strong. But she will go to her death with dignity. She owes her family that much.

“Yes, now!” Vader snaps. She missed the conversation, drifting in her own mind. Radi enters the guest bedroom and emerges a long moment later with Pooja, mercifully unharmed. Her hands are uncuffed. She was always too proud to shout. After a few more barked orders, Pooja ends up beside her, cuffed and wide eyed. They’re lined up on the wall, facing forward. Aren’t you supposed to face people you execute towards the wall?

“I am quite capable of dealing with a pair of girls, my lord.” Eleventh Brother is pissed. Vader ignores him, eyes fixed on a far off point. Shoulder to shoulder, Ryoo takes her sister’s hand without being seen. The younger girl squeezes, hard. She squeezes back. 

“I love you,” she whispers. “We’re going to be okay.” Pooja shakes her head. Smart kid. A sudden plan races through Ryoo’s mind, half-formed and dangerous. Her voice drops even lower. “Get ready to run. Don’t wait for me and don’t grab Luke, just run. Be brave.” Pooja looks up at her, eyes watery. Ryoo bites her lip. There’s too much to say, but the convenient argument has ended. “Run.” 

“Blasters raised,” Vader calls in an emotionless voice. Pooja freezes beside her. Ryoo nudges her.

“Be brave.” The words are barely a breath. Ryoo wants to close her eyes but she has to be ready. She has to be brave. Maybe she can finally live up to the resemblance. 

“Take aim,” he calls, and the troopers do. Radi trembles slightly. He’s aiming for Pooja. Unfortunately, he’ll be hitting the one he’s spoken to. She looks to Vader, into his sick eyes. He’s looking at her. And she can’t look away. Time stretches on. And on. Why hasn’t he called fire?

“Sir?” Captain Curtain asks, lowering his weapon slightly. Vader breathes heavily now, Luke still held tightly in his arms. Ryoo looks away, to Pooja. The girl is milk white, trembling. But she nods, imperceptibly. 

“I said ‘take aim’, captain.” He snaps, and Curtain’s weapon goes back up. Shiraya protect my brother, Shiraya guide my sister, Shiraya take my soul. It’s always better to pray in sevens. Shiraya lend her strength, Shiraya lend her speed, Shiraya lend her safety. One more. Shiraya take my pain. “Fire.”

Two blaster shots are fired.

One strikes Ryoo Naberrie in the abdomen. 

One strikes the door to her bedroom.

She strikes the floor, clutching her abdomen and screaming. One wordless screech of terror and then silence and pain. Pooja balks and then runs, runs like she’s never run before. Down the stairs and out the back door and into the streets. That’s what Ryoo hopes. Her mind is focused on the pain in her stomach. 

Someone else is screaming, and it’s not like in a holonovel where it’s really just her. It’s Luke. Poor Luke. She wants him to close his eyes but she cannot speak. There’s no blood. Maybe that’s a mercy.

Blue light fills her vision. Feet. They flicker unstabley. A man’s choppy voice, as if through a buffering transmission. 

“Sleep, littl-” Ryoo lifts her head, staring at the distorted apparition. “safe with me.” She lets her eyes close and her head drop. Black water washes closer, comforting her. Someone touches her face far too gently. Blue light, more solid, through one cracked eye. 

Someone is shouting something she can’t possibly care about. Floating is the sensation of now, and now is all that matters. And then the floating cuts away sharply and Ryoo knows no more.

* * *

Vader has what he came for. The boy sleeps again in his arms, deep down after another suggestion of the Force.

One girl is prone on the floor, the other being hunted by his servant. What happens to her is not of particular interest to him.

But the dark hair fanned around a pale face, the lips parted in a silent scream... it’s familiar. Too familiar. 

She does not hate him. She cares for his son. And the boy clearly cares for her.

Sidious would tell him to use that. He contemplates butchering her like he did her parents, sending a message with burns of his saber. 

The girl is dead. It matters not.

Unless...

She lives. Remains in the Force, holding to life with fingertips. He should step on them, send her tumbling into the void.

Some would call it mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did Ryoo just... die?
> 
> I don’t know, it was really unclear. Thoughts? Cliffhanger for you guys! Super long chapter as well. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Have a great weekend!


	5. Holding On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad things happen to good people.

Ryoo opens her eyes, surprised to be opening them at all. There’s a comforting white fog, being wrapped in yards of cotton batting. And then the jolt of memories, the discharge of a laser pistol, the world rushing past her eyes, the feeling of smooth stone against her face. Pooja’s retreating footsteps, the smell of burning flesh- _Ryoo’s_ burning flesh. She sits up, pressing a hand to her stomach, expecting pain. There’s none. 

Well, none is an exaggeration. Ryoo’s stomach is sore, tender. To her left is a wall, plastiod paneling. Her bed’s in the corner of a room, and there’s a door directly across the way. Other than a cabinet set into the wall, the remainder of the space is featureless and bare. Grey door. White or cream everything else. Uniform illumination provided by a track set into the ceiling. She has to glance down at her arms to remind herself that there are other colors in the world. 

Her dress has been swapped for some sort of shift, short-sleeved and falling to her knees with no discernible fastenings. She’s got to get a look at the wound. Pulling the soft fabric up to her ribs reveals a bacta patch and little else. Pressing on the dressing makes her wince. Okay. So what does she do now? There’s not even a control panel on this side of the door. There aren’t any windows, and even if she could reach the air vent in the ceiling, she’s likely being monitored.

She’s saved from speculation by the door sliding open. A medical droid hovers in, followed by a figure. A figure in a mask. Ryoo yanks the shift down, color rising to her cheeks. The droid potters over to her side and begins to rattle off a litany of words, none of which make any sense to her. It goes to lift her shift again, but she swats its manipulators away.

“Not in front of _him._ ” The medical droid clicks slightly, then turns to Vader. His eyes are on Ryoo, his expression unknown.

“The patient has requested your dismissal, Lord Vader.” The yellow eyes blink. The droid turns back to Ryoo, hooking onto the grey fabric once more. She yelps, jumping out of the bed and falling, wincing, to the floor. The droid chitters frantically, clearly worried she’s going to injure herself. Or maybe worried what will happen to it if she injures herself. Vader studies her, his eyes lingering not on her legs or her form, but her face. Her eyes. Her hair, messy and falling down around her face.

“I should’ve killed you.” The voice is soft, a low growl over the modulator. A shard of ice sinks into Ryoo’s stomach, numbing the pain with adrenaline. The medical droid pauses, looking from human to human. “I should’ve let you die. I should kill you right now and be done with it.” Her fingers dig into the hem of the shift.

“Then why don’t you?” It’s in a harsher tone than she’d normally use on a mask-wearing psychopath, but if he’s going to kill her she’s not going to waste her time on pretty words.

“I’ve killed her enough.” He turns about at that, quicker than she thought was possible, and leaves the room. The door slides shut behind him. The droid commences chittering, so she sits back on the bed and pulls up her shift so the damn thing can calm itself. It peels off the bacta patch, which hurts about as much as she’d expect it to. The droid scans the wound, runs it over with a strange tool, and spreads on a slimy layer of ointment before applying a regular bandage.

Ryoo takes a deep breath. So Vader saved her from death at the last second. Just what she needed. Well, if she wants to become more heroic, she can start by breaking out of this room and saving her siblings. Luke and Pooja. Their parents-

She can’t think about that. She can’t think about Pooja and what the Imperials would’ve done upon finding her. She can’t think about what Vader might do if she tries to escape, let alone take Luke with her. She has to focus on the now, on the reality of the droid and the pain and the shiny room. Because if she lets herself get distracted, people could die. 

There’s one problem. Ryoo is not built to handle this situation. 

Her plans to spy for the rebellion, to learn to fly a star fighter, to become a politician... that’s just what they were. Plans. To get the training needed to fill those positions so she could do something useful for the galaxy. She doesn’t have the actual training. Her only practical skills are sewing and wool-dyeing, ancient arts quite useless for the current situation. Sewing, wool-dyeing and talking. Her escape portfolio. It’s just going to have to do.

The droid asks her a few questions, prods at the wound, then leaves. And Ryoo is left alone with plenty of time to contemplate things she shouldn’t be contemplating. Like the implications of the sentence ‘I’ve killed her enough’. Ryoo’s not stupid. Vader was talking about her aunt. Who he thinks she looks like. How can you kill someone _enough_? Killing someone is a one-off deal. It’s not like there’s a host of Aunt Padmés running around who he’s had enough of murdering. 

A quick circuit of the room reveals no exits other than the locked, panelless door. And the air vent. It’s pretty standard, a metal panel in the otherwise seamless ceiling. Can she reach it? The cabinet is unlocked, but contains only a few spare set of sheets and medical supplies. The bed is one with the wall, little more than a slab with a third support leg. Even at normal strength, she doubts she’d be strong enough to break it.

Think, she tells herself. There are lives depending on her ability to get out of this room. There’s about six or seven inches of space between her outstreched hands and the ceiling vent. How can she get up that high? 

The sheets. She piles them on the floor beneath the vent, and standing atop them brings her fingertips level with the hatch. Jumping hurts her stomach, but she manages to catch herself on the lip of the vent. And if she thought jumping hurt, trying to hang statically from the vent blows that out of the water. Fire spreads out from the wound, and she drops, landing on the pile of sheets with a thump and clutching her stomach.

Now that, she thinks, was a stupid idea.

Ryoo sighs, curling into a little ball. There’s nothing to do but sit on her pile of sheets and worry. Maybe that’s what Vader wants her to do. She closes her eyes. Prays. Tries to ignore her thirst and pressing need for the refresher. There’s nothing safe to think about.

The charuthnals. Their wool, spun into thread and hanging from the wall baskets and rafters. Her grandmother showing her the herbs and rock dust that the ancients used to create pigments. Her sweaty hair tied up in a bun. Promising Pooja she’d teach her when she turned ten. There was never a chance.

There will be. When Ryoo gets out of here, not if, she’ll track down her sister and teach her how to dye and weave. Luke too, when he turns ten. Until then he can help with heating the water and spinning and shearing, the way Ryoo did. That’s what will happen. 

Ryoo’s not sure exactly when she falls asleep but by the time she wakes back up she’s not alone. As soon as she realizes this she shuts her eyes tight. Maybe whoever it is will just go away.

“I know you’re awake.” It’s Vader. She opens her eyes and sits up, finding his boots only a few feet away. Her legs are less shaky than before and she’s able to move away without falling. The door is open, revealing a grey hallway. The medical droid is nowhere to be seen. “Follow me.”

It’s not like she’s got a lot of options. So she follows him out of the room, into a hallway with dark paneled walls and an even darker floor. There are doors spaced at even intervals and stormtroopers posted beside the one at the far end. Behind her are more rooms and a blank wall. A couple of thoughts flitter through her mind of trying to run, but her stomach still aches from her disasterous attempt at escape earlier and she has no idea where she is. Better to play along.

They pass through the door at the end of the hall and into another, wider corridor. Some of the doors have windows now. Equipment, preservers, and sterile surfaces gleam through them, along with men and women in white lab coats. A fresh wave of emotions washes over Ryoo. They’re either in some sort of medcenter or some sort of lab. The last time she was in a medcenter was when Luke was born. Or, she supposes, when her parents pretended Luke was born. The air is cold and smells like sanitizer.

They’re not the only ones walking through the building. Stormtroopers clad in strange armor march through the halls in pairs, the harsh lights gleaming on their blaster barrels. Some of the lab-coat clad folks and medical droids pass by, too, carrying trays and datapads and strange containers of mysterious substances. There’s something off about it all. Something that unsettles her. It’s not until she spots another figure not dressed in plastoid or labgear that she can put her finger on it.

A glimpse, through a long transiparisteel window on a wall, of a child. Not much younger than Pooja, clad in a similar grey shift to the one Ryoo’s wearing. They sit there dejectedly on a metal slab of a table, arm attached to a tube. Their eyes meet, and she halts, torn by the hopeless look. The child’s skin is grey and translucent, and it’s then that she realizes they aren’t human. A hand closes on her tricep and she looks up to find Vader glaring at her. She steps forward quickly and he releases her. Ryoo has to stop looking in windows. 

A couple of hallways later and she’s hopelessly lost. There’s no way they’re still on Naboo. She can’t think of a single building that would look this Imperial and be this large. Eventually, they wind up in a long hallway with no doors. The air is cold and she hugs herself, the hairs raising on her arms and legs. Vader’s steady pace does not cease, even though Ryoo can feel her strength begin to flag. 

The hallway is empty. There aren’t any guards or windows or breaks in the monotony of tongue and groove panels on dark, freezing tile. Where in chaos are they going? When will they get there? Where are they now? If she focuses on her breathing she can stay calm.

“Did you know of my son’s true identity?” Vader’s words are unexpected. And cold. Ryoo can read tone. His invites nothing but an answer, and a prompt one.

“Not for a long time.” Does he want a more elaborate tale? She adds, “I found out a week or two before the Inquisitor showed up.” More silent footsteps.

“Did it upset you?” Even breaths. Why does he care? What does he hope to gain?

“I haven’t had much time to think about it.” Eyes on the floor, on her pale icicle feet slapping the tile. She dares a glance and finds the mask staring at her. Exhale. “It doesn’t _upset_ me. My parents, my aunt, they-” She can’t finish that sentence. Vader will hardly appreciate her opinion on the necessity of keeping Luke hidden.

“They what?” He’s not going to give it up, but Ryoo doesn’t think answering him will do her any favors. Though it’s not like he hasn’t threatened to kill her anyway.

“They had their reasons.” There. That’s the safest way she can put it while saying anything at all. The mask makes it hard to tell if her words anger him. 

“She didn’t understand.” Vader looks straight ahead at the now-visible end to the hallway. “Padmé. They lied to her. All of them. She didn’t listen to me, and...” It’s almost human, the way he talks about his wife. But Ryoo cannot let her guard down. She knows what happened. She has a pretty good idea, anyway. “She was foolish. I had to kill her. It was the only way.” Inhale. Exhale. Right foot. Left foot. Her nails dig into the soft flesh of her palms.

Ryoo doesn’t respond, and they’ve reached the other end of the hallway. A few more corridors. A staircase. Quiet breathing, echoing footsteps. Try not to think. About her parents, about her siblings, about the man leading her. About the grey-faced child...

They arrive in a dead-ended hallway with a single door. It’s guarded, unlike several others they’ve walked past. Vader nods at the troopers, and the door slides open with no visible prompting. Ryoo doesn’t realize they’ve arrived, at first. It’s a few degrees warmer and her feet meet the fibers of a short carpet instead of cold tile. She looks up, not knowing what to expect.

The room in front of her is both unexpected and understandable. The carpet is the utilitarian kind on the floor at elementary schools and the walls are painted charcoal grey. Another hallway leads off down the center and a window shuttered with blinds sits off to one side. There’s the expected furniture; a table, some chairs, a couch. But the entire room seems lifeless, empty. Nobody lives here.

“Hello?” It’s a tiny voice, rough from crying. Hope, dangerous and wild, builds in Ryoo’s chest. She examines the room more closely and finds no one.

“Luke?” she calls, holding her breath. A blond head pokes out into the hallway, quickly followed by the rest of her brother. He races over to her, wrapping his arms around her legs and shivering. She kneels, hugging him so hard that it hurts. Don’t cry, she tells herself, don’t cry. You have to be brave. Tears spill from her eyes anyway.

“Are we gonna go home now?” Ryoo takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself. What has Vader been doing to the boy? She runs a hand through his hair and works on an answer to his unanswerable question. 

“This _is_ your home.” Luke flinches at his father’s words, and that tells her all she needs to know. Calm, she thinks. Calm. Collected. Poised. Being angry at Vader will do as much good as being angry at a storm. “I’ve brought your cousin back. You’ll both live here now.” 

Ryoo doesn’t want to let Luke go now that she’s got him back. But lifting him will be impossible for the foreseeable future and she really needs to keep an eye on Vader. She sighs and loosens her grip on the boy, going back to her feet. He clings to her leg, nowhere to hide in the absence of long, woolen skirts. Vader’s watching her. She can’t read the look. The door has slid shut behind him, again with no visible panel. Escaping’s going to be hard if the only way out is a remotely controlled door.

And then he slides his mask off and she’s struck by how normal he looks, how he can’t possibly be the man that ordered Pooja shot and her parents killed. But the eyes... she can’t forget. She can’t let herself forget. He glances at her, and she takes a step back.

This is wrong. This is all so wrong. She shouldn’t be standing here in a freezing room with a holonet nightmare come to life, Luke trying to hide behind her and a shift barely hanging to her knees. The man can see her _legs_ for Shiraya’s sake! Is that what it’s come to, she wonders vaguely, the terrible etiquette of an unrelated man seeing my bare calves? A laugh chokes itself into a sob in her throat, and her legs tremble violently.

Pooja running past the Inquisitor. Pain exploding in her stomach. Luke sobbing, the bottom of Petal Head’s helmet. Her parents, probably dead. Blue light. Shiraya’s light? Someone touching her cheek. Was it Vader? The medical droid tugging at her shift. The look he gave her. The way he’s looking at her now, like he’s seeing a ghost. The strange hope on his face that makes her stomach curdle with more than phantom blaster aches.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Ryoo’s not a hero. She’s not someone who can protect Luke, she’s not someone who can escape, she’s not someone who can stand tall on broken legs and ask for more.

The galaxy is a tidal wave that’s swept her family off the beach and left her lying half-dead on the sand. Now she’s got to pick up the pieces and keep what’s left from washing away while the tides pull at her ankles. Keep her brother from drowning when her head’s barely clearing the water.

She cannot stop herself from bowing her head and crying.

* * *

Turmoil swirls around the girl in the Force, a cloud of despair that could be powerful if she could touch the energy herself. It frightens his son, who stares up at her with wide eyes.

The irony is bitter in Vader’s mind; the boy sees her as strong, she sees herself as weak.

She cries. It’s a pitiful display, the sort he rarely has the stomach for. He should cut her down now, where the boy can see. It will give him anger to focus on as he trains, inspiration. Those are Palpatine’s words.

Vader is beyond Palpatine and his methods.

But if he doesn’t end her, what shall he do? The girl looks up at him through reddened eyes. It stings. She doesn’t see a resemblance but he cannot be the only one who does. Another moment of the ghosts, newborn Vader and desperate Padmé. The fields of lava where his enemy fell. He almost killed her there, too. Perhaps it would’ve been simpler.

The boy grabs her hand. He’s too concerned for his own good, too pure. It will be gone soon enough.

“Don’t cry!” His words are whispered and desperate. “Please don’t cry.” The girl tries to compose herself, taking deep breaths.

She’ll learn, too.

Soon enough.

* * *

“Wake up!” Erlo brings his head up immediately, years of training springing to the forefront of his mind. “There is not much time. Your enemies have found you.” The old woman is hunched over him, her features long and grim in the dim red nightlight of the transport. He drops his three middle fingers and then taps the thumb twice before realizing she can’t speak hand signal.

“What’s going on?” The people around them are all asleep, Leia curled between a pair of crates. The woman presses something into his hand, waiting until his fingers curl around hers to release it.

“Red blades,” she whispers. He glances down at the object, but he doesn’t get a good look before she slaps him lightly on the cheek. “Worry about that later. It can help you on your way. We have stopped at a routine checkpoint; if you can sneak off here, you can flee with the girl.” Erlo slips the object, which seems to be flat, metal, and circular, into his pocket.

“How did you know?” The woman shakes her head.

“They walked down the stairs to the lowest passenger level. They must think you stowed away. I saw them; I know what they look like. You must flee before they come back.” Leia stirs, and he debates waking her. But if she should cry or complain... Erlo lifts her up, cloak and all, fortunately without rousing her any further. 

“Who are the red blades?” he asks, unsure if he wants to know the answer. The woman shakes her head.

“More of the emporor’s dogs. They will take your girl and take her far away. I know. You must move quickly; no more questions!” Halfway to his feet, Erlo pauses.

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.” She bows her head, staring at the steel ground.

“You are not as unique in your plight as you would believe, Erlo River. You are most welcome.” And then, for the second time in Erlo’s life, someone tells him, “May the Force be with you.” He gives the same response he had before and then heads out the door, mind barely caught up with the situation.

There are people with red blades, blades like Vader’s, chasing after him. The old woman knows who they are and how to avoid them. He’s not unique in his plight, whatever that means. And the woman used a little-known Jedi saying only used by specific people assigned very difficult tasks. What has he gotten himself into? Two weeks ago it was ‘make sure no one attacks the impenetrable palace’. Now he’s running from laser-sword wielding maniacs and protecting perhaps the last remaining member of Alderaan’s royal house solo. Leia is heavy in his arms, and he realizes he’s left all of his other supplies behind. Okay. He can grieve about all of that later, for now he just needs to survive.

Walking down the aisleway is simple. Bright lights are on in the main corridor, the large archway illuminating the pitiful living spaces of unfortunate passengers sharply. Erlo pokes his head into the long metal hall, looking both ways for any imperial agents. A pair of patrol droids is marching toward the far hall. They’re not looking his way and he slips out and down quite easily.

Now he just needs to get off the ship. That’s going to be harder than it seems; he wasn’t really paying attention when he boarded the ship, just following the directions of some preachy protocol/inventory droids and the flow of humanity. He remembers coming down this hallway from the right end, though. The ship can’t be _that_ large.

It can. He reaches the end of the corridor and finds himself in another, stretching off to four more on his right and three on his left. How many people did they cram onto this flying bucket? A legion of elevators and a few sets of stairs are situated on the opposite wall. There isn’t time to worry about triggering alarms, he’s got to move. Two weeks of close quarters and you’re going to start trusting your new, hunch-having friends on imperial movements.

What he wouldn’t give to have Rij in his ear, feeding him intel. His father and a team of guardsmen taking the rear and scouting. The comforting palace layout he knows like the back of his hand. Or knew, he supposes. There’s no telling what’s left now. He can’t bear to listen to the holonet broadcasts and hear about the probable executions of his friends and family to find out.

He steps into the hall and has just called a lift when another one opens up down the hall and spills a dozen stormtroopers into the scuffed floor, led by a woman dressed in all black. He wouldn’t think anything of it, really, if it wasn’t for a quiet, sleepy whimper from Leia. Erlo glances down, but she’s still asleep, perhaps suffering from another nightmare. That would go over about as well right now as the ancient Alderaani salute at-well, anywhere, really.

The doors to the elevator open before the troopers can see him, and just for a moment he thinks that he might actually make it home free. Then the woman turns and fixes him with a crazy yellow stare. And then she jumps like a fucking spider and _springs_ down the hall as he dashes into the lift and mashes some buttons. Here’s to hoping floor four has an exit door. 

Leia pokes her head up just as the door shuts, clinging tightly to his softly woven shirt. The lift ascends, not quickly but still in motion. He’ll take it, for now.

“She’s crying,” the tiny girl whispers, shivering, “can you help her, Mr. River?” What? He pats her back awkwardly, watching the floor numbers climb. Or descend. The elevator climbs, the numbers descend. What dumbass designed this thing, anyway? Why isn’t-

“We need to be very quiet. The Imperials are on the ship and we have to leave before they find us.” Leia frowns.

“That’s why she’s crying.” Erlo sighs. Nine, seven, five.

“Shhh.” The doors clank open and he spills out onto a deserted floor. It’s a main corridor and by some miraculous stroke of luck, there’s an exit door right in front of him. His feet clack over the floor, startling some maintenance droids as he nears the opening. And then something falls from the sky and lands directly in front of him, igniting a crimson blade once it lands. The woman. Her face is sallow and covered with a demented grin. She wears a long braid over her shoulder.

“Hello there,” she says, “I believe you have something my master wants.” Erlo takes a deep breath, pulling Leia closer as if that’ll do any good.

“I don’t know what the Organas were doing, but I have a pretty good idea.” The woman brings herself up into a standing position, shifting the blade as she considers his words. “The princess has nothing to do with it. I have nothing to do with it. She can’t rise to power on her own, and even if she could, Alderaan is peaceful. Let us go and I promise that your master will never hear a word from us again.”

The woman laughs. _Laughs_. As if this is simply a fun game for her. Hunt down the honor guard and his ward and giggle when he tries to stall. 

“Are you truly so naïve?” She takes a step closer. “This isn’t about control of your precious Alderaan; this is about her.” The woman gestures at Leia, who stares at her intently.

“I don’t like you.” Her words are quiet, but easily heard in the great room’s silence. “You feel bad. The blue man said you would.” The woman raises a sharp eyebrow.

“Oh?” She takes another step closer. Too close, with the reach on that weapon of hers. “And who is this blue man? An acquaintance of yours?” The woman does not expect him to run. Or, if he does run, to get very far. So that’s what he does.

In a maneuver that requires every bit of skill he’s ever possessed, Erlo dodges the crazy-fast redblade woman and makes a break for it, feet hitting the landing platform at a sprint. Wind rushes around him, tearing at his hair and clothes. Ships land and depart from nearby docking bays, people shout and droids move crates and debris is mounded everywhere.

It’s the most welcome sight Erlo has seen since the crowd surrounding the palace back on Alderaan.

He races off into the melee, ducking between crates, shifty-looking pilots, and a large, baying creature that appears to be half fluff and half lungs. Judging by the crashing noises, the red blade is not far behind. People begin to shout and scream, running around in panic. Even better; chaos makes it harder for people to find you.

If you ignore the whispering toddler and the life-or-death situation, the exercise is actually kind of nice. Erlo’s not had room to run like this for days. At least he’s doing something other than worry about what will happen when the Empire finds them. Of course, now his worst nightmares are coming true. _Optimism is best with a healthy dose of caution._

Through a gate and under a giant crate full of who-knows-what. He's starting to think that he might’ve gained on the woman just a bit when he hears a feral snarl behind him and _a **spinning, double-bladed** laser sword_ flies through the air at his head. He ducks and it shoots over his head, returning to a point beyond his view, presumably the redblade’s hand. 

His flight leads him closer to the docks, smaller freighters rising and landing and sitting around with half-drunk crews scattered everywhere in a sort of organized chaos. Erlo knows he’s in trouble. Even with all of his physical conditioning, his lungs are beginning to burn and his legs to tire. Now the redblade might be gaining on him.

There! A ship is completing its final launch checks, the massive ramp slowly folding shut. He races towards the door, uncaring of who might be crewing it. A Theelin woman, her skin a pale blue, stands inside the bay of the ship, typing on a side panel. She looks out, bringing a hand to her mouth. Maybe he’s caused more mayhem than he’d thought. He heads straight for that ship, determined to leap aboard before it takes off. The cargo door closes ominously slowly, moving centimeters per second.

At that moment, he catches the Theelin’s eyes. He watches her take in the bundle in his arms, the woman behind him, and the desperation that must be splashed all over his face. She turns to the panel, a finger outstretched. Then she glances back once more. The gap is now only two or three feet wide, and closing fast. Horizontally. How’s that for luck? Erlo is only feet away and he can hear the redblade’s blades as they hiss through the air.

“PLEASE!” he screams with the last of his breath, the cargo bay door almost shut. The Theelin hesitates and he leaps into the narrow crack, the door closing with much finality behind him. His eyes shut and he slides down the wall, feeling the light turbulence of a ship lifting into the sky. The scream from behind barely registers. Leia sits in his arms, stunned and staring at the ship around them.

“Are you okay?” he asks her, panting. The girl buries her face in her hands, and he does his best to comfort her. He’s still not good at the whole ‘kid’ thing. “We’re fine. We’re going to be fine.” A sharp cough draws his attention to the woman in front of him, and a newly arrived man standing beside her. 

“You better give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kick your sorry ass off the ship and onto the platform.” Erlo blinks at him, his mind still running around on the docks. He struggles to his feet, trying to hold onto a now-rigid Leia. The Theelin regards him with a look of pity.

“C’mon, Lee. The kid barely got out of there with his head!” The man, Lee, rolls his eyes.

“The Imps gotta want something real bad to send one of those things after you.” He looks Erlo up and down, folding his arms. “Not that you’d know it looking at him.” Erlo takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.

“I’m sorry for jumping on your ship,” he says, “but I didn’t have a lot of options. Kick us off. Feel free! But can you please wait until the red blade down on the platform leaves?” Lee snorts again.

“You’ve gotta be real lucky if you’ve made it this far without realizing the ‘red blade’ ain’t gonna leave.” He gestures downwards in the vague direction of the platform. “They see you doing something illegal and they’re on you like a mynock on a spicer’s hull. Coming back to this whole sector’d be suicide.” Useful advice, if delivered in a condescending manner.

“We can’t just kick him off,” the Theelin protests, “we’ve probably broken atmosphere by now.” Lee looks unmoved. She crosses her arms and adds, “He’s got a little one, for crying out loud. Can’t we cut him a little slack?” The man sniffs.

“I’m not the one you’ve gotta convince.” He turns, heading towards a door at the far end of the room. “Mirdu’ll know what to do with him.” The Theelin sighs, glances at Erlo, then heads for the door. Tentatively, he follows. Leia lowers one hand, glancing around the room.

The ship appears to be pretty well-kept, if not in the best condition he’s ever seen. They go down a narrow hallway and stop at a ladder, Lee slowly disappearing into the ceiling. The Theelin gestures for Erlo to go next. He frowns, trying to readjust Leia. Does he have the energy to climb one-handed to the top?

“I can carry her for you, if you’d like.” Erlo looks to the woman, trying to sort out his overly complicated feelings. “I haul things up all the time. It wouldn’t be a problem for me.” He looks down at Leia, who stares at the woman with unguarded interest. 

“I’ve got it.” The first few rungs aren’t too bad. After that, though, the going gets rather tough. He gives it a rest, sighing, before pushing up to the top. The Theelin let him onto the ship, but... _Complacency breeds chaos._ At the top of the stairs is a small, compact room that could probably fit four comfortably. With his arrival and the Theelin’s not after, the room is feeling quite crowded. He takes a minute to survey the remainder of the crew.

A heavily tattooed Zabrak sits in the pilot’s chair, blue streaky hyperspace flowing past the window behind him. In the co’s spot is a short human male wearing large, thick goggles. Another woman who’s got a welder’s mask pulled over her face completes the gang. None of them look particularly friendly.

“What have you all done now?” The captain glowers at Erlo, though the look flickers when he sees Leia. “I thought we agreed not to pick up strays.” Lee nods.

“Divani decided allowing a fugitive to board would be a grand idea.” His glare flicks to the blueish woman to Erlo’s right. She meets his gaze steadily, head up.

“The kid was being chased by an Imp. What’d you want me to do, let him die?” The captian’s frown deepens.

“She’s brought trouble down on all of us,” Lee interjects, “who knows why they were after him?” The goggled man raises a quiet hand before speaking.

“I would think he does.” He points at Erlo. The captain nods.

“Fair point.” He fixes Erlo with a laser stare the likes of which he’s seldom experienced. It’s almost worse than Vader. “Alright, kid, make it quick. Who are you and what did you do to get an Inquisitor on your ass?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACTUAL IMPORTANT NOTE ABOUT THE FIC: Midterms are going on next week, so no chapter next Friday. Sorry!
> 
> Autocorrect was being a real shabuir this chapter with Ryoo’s name. If you see something, say something. 
> 
> Although it was rather depressing, I hope you enjoyed reading!


	6. Playing Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes try not to die.

“If you’re not going to turn me in, why do you have me locked up?” The masked woman sighs dramatically, but says nothing. That’s the way it’s been for three and a half hours. “What are you doing with the kid?” No one is going to answer his questions, but he keeps telling himself that the next guard might. First it was ill-tempered and snappy Lee, now it’s nameless welding mask lady. She doesn’t seem to talk, but Lee had plenty to say. Particularly about Erlo’s mental capacity.

Erlo sighs and leans his head back against the wall. He’s in the ship’s brig, three metal walls and one made of sturdy bars. The guard’s sitting too far away to attack and there’s nothing inside for him to escape with. Just a bench and his now knifeless belt. Yup, Erlo River, brave protector of Princess Leia of Alderaan, has been stripped of his weapons by a gang of spacers. Not even the cocky, spice dealing kind who wear real leather and spout one liners. The kind that’s run the same route forever transporting grain and raw materials. 

He goes through his belt pockets, just to give himself something to do. There’s a tiny flashlight, a roll of tape. A broken grappling hook that he’d been meaning to trade in for months. His belt’s now empty, for the third time. The crew took anything that seemed dangerous, including his broken hook’s wire. It hangs there, flat and deflated looking-

What’s that shining in the pocket? 

Erlo’s had secret pockets on his belt for years and never anything to put in them. His father said they were for couriers, who dressed just like the other guards to avoid suspicion. Everyone got the pockets so the concealing seams never looked off. But the magnetic clasp is bent out of place, exposing a tiny sliver of the interior. He jams a finger in there and pulls out a smooth metal object.

It’s flat and round, like a coin, and stamped with a symbol he’s never seen before. Wings, on either side of a sharp point, with a starburst in the middle. He rubs a finger over it. No, he has seen it before. But where? This must be the object that the old woman gave him. But why? What does the coin do? Is it currency?

The outer door slides open, admitting the Theelin. Leia follows her a few steps behind, rushing over to the bars as soon as she spots Erlo.

“Mr. River!” Erlo shoves all the junk back into his pockets and zips them. Then he heads to the bars, grabbing the tiny hand Leila pokes through. “Are they going to let you go now?” He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“Not quite,” he says, “but I’m sure they will soon.” Her face falls. Well, there’s not much he can do about that.

“I can take over,” the Theelin is saying to welding mask lady, “the poor kid can’t stop asking about the boy.” Welding mask lady nods and pushes off of her crate chair, handing the Theelin her weapon. They exchange a look before welding mask lady leaves, and then she’s gone. The Theelin takes her old spot on the chair, but facing Erlo instead of the door. “Hello.”

“Uh, hi,” he says, “are you actually going to talk to me?” The woman’s eyebrow’s join her hairline.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Before he can answer, she continues, “Well, I’m sure the other two didn’t talk to you. Lee’s a bit... hm, how should I say it... stuck up. And Nadaya doesn’t talk. So I guess you’re probably confused. Anyway, I’m Divani. Mirdu put me in charge of keeping an eye on your girl, but she was worried and so I took the rest of Daya’s shift and brought the little one in here.” Erlo nods. This is the most someone’s spoken to him since the great ‘Leia doesn’t know how false identities work’ incident up in the cabin. 

“Can I ask you some questions?” She nods. Leia starts pacing in front of the cage, clearly bored. Divani glances at her, frowning.

“Do you want me to fix her hair?” She gestures to the tangled mess perched atop the princess’s head. Erlo hasn’t touched it since Alderaan, deciding that the last thing he needed was to get a comb stuck in that mess. Leia stops and looks up at the woman, a hand going to her head.

“You can fix it?” The small girl asks. Divani grins. 

“Wait here, honey. I’m gonna go grab my comb.” The woman walks from the room, leaving him completely unguarded. Huh. Leia sticks by his cell, folding her arms. A sudden idea strikes him.

“Do you see a control panel?” he asks, stepping over to the door. The girl nods, pointing to a spot several inches away from him along the one wall. Too far to reach. “Can you try to let me out?” She frowns.

“I don’t know if I should.” Erlo groans inwardly.

“Listen, Leia, if you let me out I can get us off this ship.” He thinks there are footsteps coming down the corridor.

“People get locked up for doing bad stuff.” Erlo leans his head against the bar.

“And what kind of bad stuff did I do?” She shrugs, eyeballing the wall panel. “You’ve been with me since we left Alderaan. If I did something wrong-” The door slides open and Divani walks in, armed with several instruments that he does not recognize. Well, his ability to get people off the ship was probably overestimation.

“Alright, hon, sit on the box right here. I’m going to get you cleaned up.” Leia glances at Erlo. It takes him a minute to realize she’s asking for permission. He nods, and she pulls herself up onto the crate. Divani opens a bottle of something and pours some of whatever’s in there onto Leia’s head. “So, you said you have questions? Lee was complaining about that. And Daya, but in a far quieter manner.” Is she seriously going to give him answers?

“I thought your captain said that the less I know, the better.” Divani grins. She’s working the old hairstyle out, pulling all the hair down. It turns out that Leia has a lot more hair than he knew about. 

“Mirdu’s a bit much. I figure that if we let you know something, you’ll be less likely to run out on us. I can’t tell you everything, of course, but I’ll see what I can do.” More stuff from the bottle. “So. Hit me! What do you want to know?”

“Why did you guys throw me in jail if you’re going to help me?” Divani retrieves a comb from her pile of stuff and starts from the bottom, running it through the ends of Leia’s hair.

“Deniability. If the Imps stop us, we can tell ‘em we were hauling you in. Keep the kid safe, too. If we had you both, we’d have thrown you in the same cell.” Erlo can see the wisdom in that and it makes him angry. He’s thankful that they’re looking out for the kid, but do they have to do that by keeping him in a cage?

“What are you going to do with us if you don’t get caught?” The smile flickers, and she keeps her eyes on the hair. Erlo’s probably not going to see the wisdom in this one.

“That’s one I can’t answer, bud. Sorry.” There’s a pause, the only sound a slight yelp from Leia as the comb snags her hair. Divani sighs. “Mirdu knows a guy. Or well, a ga- uh, a person. He’s got a contact, I guess you could say. A friend. They’ll be able to help you better than we can.” Erlo frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of this. They’re going to hand him over to some random ‘contact’ of theirs and hope that they can help?

“No offense,” he says, “but how can I trust you? Any of you? You’ve locked me in your brig and you know who Leia is. Hell- er, _heck_ , you seem to know more about the sort of trouble I’m in than I do.” Divani begins to section the girl’s hair.

“Mirdu and Co know more about the sort of trouble you’re in than you do. The rest of us have no idea. Well, we’ve got an idea, but it’s a fuzzy one.” She sighs, her fingers moving quickly across Leia’s scalp. “In any case, if it was about the money we’d be asking for pay. If it was about the Empire, I’d have slammed the cargo bay shut and let the red blade get you. It was about the right thing, which is why we’re helping you. Besides, I knew Mirdu’d let you stay, despite all of Lee’s bellyaching.”

“Why?” Her earlier grin returns.

“He’s got a soft spot for kids in trouble. ‘Specially your sort of trouble. Hits him a little too close to home.” At his confused look, she adds, “Your girl, hon. She’s Ashla touched, as my aunt would’ve said. That’s why the Imps want her so bad. Well, that’s what Mirdu thinks, anyway. I don’t know anything about all that.” Ashla touched? What is that supposed to mean? Erlo looks at Leia, who’s fidgeting in the chair but clearly listening. She surprises him when she asks,

“What’s that mean?” The woman blinks, tying off a braid.

“The Ashla. The spirit that we all carry and create. A few very special people are given gifts by it, gifts that they can use to help people. That’s how I like to put it, anyways. Mirdu would’ve given you a cold stare and Co would’ve broken out the diagrams. They call it the Force.” She starts on the other side of Leia’s head now. “I think their contact was part of the warriors who used it. Used to be a whole lot of them on Coruscant.” Erlo gives her a look.

“The Jedi? And the Force? Leia’s not a Jedi! They were all wiped out by the Imps!” Divani shrugs disarmingly. The second plait is nearly complete.

“Mirdu’s the one who said it, not me. Take it up with him.” Erlo’s head starts to swim. Leia. The Force. Jedi shit. Weird contacts. He wants to wake up in his nice bed in the compound and spend three hours on the sparring mats. At least he wouldn’t have to think about being a big bad protector for a while. “Is that all you wanted to know?” 

“I guess...” It feels like there are questions he should ask, but he doesn’t know how to formulate them into words. Divani ties off the other braid, smiling at Leia.

“There you go, honey. That’s gotta feel way better than all of that dirt.” The little girl pokes at her head, which now has two braids dangling from it. She turns to Erlo.

“What do you think, Mr. River?” He thinks that he’s not cut out for all of this. But that’s not important right now.

“Beautiful.” It’s a lot better than the poor form it was in before, that’s for sure. The hair is woven in and around itself, the braids rising from her head. Erlo’s hair has always been kept short, trimmed every two weeks by the compound’s barber droid. “How do you even do that?” Divani shrugs, gathering all of her stuff into a pile.

“I dunno. Guess my ma taught me, or one of my cousins. Maybe some other girl. It’s just something you learn.” Leia’s still touching the braids with her fingers, as if she can’t quite believe that they’re there. Erlo can’t either.

“It’s crazy. How does the hair even hold like that?” Divani laughs.

“Secret womanly magic. ‘Course, there are plenty of planets where they teach the men to braid. I guess it’s secret long hair magic. Ancient arts.” Erlo, despite himself, grins. This is firmer ground. “I can’t help wondering about what you’re gonna do after we hand you off to Mirdu’s contact. Those braids aren’t gonna hold forever, you know.”

“Are you offering to teach me the mystical hair knotting skills?” The Theelin holds out a comb.

“Maybe I am.” Erlo smiles.

* * *

“Ryoo!” Luke’s cries finally hit her, break through the fog of despair she’s wrapped herself in. She lurches to attention, instantly trying to stifle her tears. It’s not working. Not well, anway. She bites her lip, digs her nails into her palm. Takes deep attempts at even breaths. Slowly, she pulls herself together. Vader hasn’t moved, still staring at her with his shockingly normal face. 

“Ryoo! Please!” Her brother is tugging at her arm, trying to lead her away. She’s frozen, her feet stuck to the floor, unable to move. Then her eyes land on Luke and his terrified expression. Move, move, move, her brain is chanting. Right. Away from Vader. 

Luke pulls her to the hall across the way and two doors down. The room they enter is small, with two bunks set into the wall, a short table/desk next to the door, and a standard issue dresser situated on the far wall. The only bit of non-neutral color in the room is her brother’s hair and a small glint of yellow beneath a tiny pillow.

“There!” The small boy exclaims, dragging a small chair from the desk in front of the door. “Now we’re safe.” He clambers onto the lowest bunk and huddles against the wall, peering around the corner with wide eyes. “I don’t think he’s following us.” Ryoo stands a few feet away from the door, stunned. The motions seem far too well practiced for this to be one of the first times he’s hidden here.

“Luke,” she asks, fighting the dread, “How long have you been here?” He shrugs, his arms wrapped around his knees. The dread strengthens. Luke is never quiet. “Are you okay? Has Vader hurt you?” She sits beside him on the bunk, tucking her own legs under her. 

“He tells mean stories.” Ryoo reaches over to wrap an arm around him, and he tense up before accepting it. “He says mommy isn’t my real mommy. He says that he’s my real daddy.” Luke shivers. “And he feels cold. I don’t like him. The blue guy doesn’t, either, but that’s a secret.” The... blue guy? His moment of hesitation has seemingly passed because he tries to burrow into her side, an action that sets her abdomen on fire. The boy jerks back, eyes wide. “Does your belly still hurt?”

“Only a little,” she says, wincing, “You didn’t hurt me.” Footsteps are coming closer, clearly audible as they travel over the short carpet. “Listen, buddy, we have to do what he says. We have to be careful. He’s dangerous.” Luke nods, peeking around the corner again. The footsteps pass and a door slides open. That’s weird. This room doesn’t have a door.

At the sound of the door shutting, Ryoo climbs to her feet and pokes her head into the hallway. There are five other rooms; two on the far wall, two on this wall (not counting the one she’s looking out of), and one on the very end. The two across the way and the one at the end of the hallway are the only ones with doors. Luke huddles up behind her, holding something yellow. His N-1. Maybe Vader isn’t completely evil.

She still wants to hide. To curl up with Luke on the bottom bunk and cry her eyes out. To quit, wake up, run away. But she can’t afford to do that. She can’t afford to be a kid right now. Ryoo always wanted to be a spy like her aunt. Spies are supposed to figure out as much about their location as possible before making a move. So she shoves the dread into a locked drawer and steps around the tiny chair.

Any of the closed doors could have Vader behind them, so she’s not even going to try. The open room to the left, sitting between Luke’s and the end of the hall, also has a bed, dresser, and desk in it. She steps inside. Okay, what can you learn about a characterless, black-walled room? Ryoo inspects the bed first.

White sheets, white blankets. Same as the room she woke up in and Luke’s bunk, though a bit larger. No headboard. She opens a drawer on the dresser. Variations on a theme of dark to neutrally colored shirts. The drawer below that is pants, the drawer below that appears to be sleepwear. The smaller topmost drawers are full of socks and underwear. Delightful. 

Judging by the sizes and styles, this room belongs to a woman. One around her-oh. This must be where she’s supposed to sleep. Unless Vader has another random girl living in here. She leaves quickly, Luke trailing behind her. The only other room without a door contains nothing but yet another shuttered window. On a whim, she searches for the cord, panel or toggle that controls the blinds. There isn’t one. 

Prying her fingers into the crack between two slats gets her a scare centimeter of a gap. She attempts to jar the unyielding material further, but it refuses to cooperate. Through the tiny gap she’s already made, she glimpses a swirl of white, maybe a hint of blue, and-

“Plotting a daring escape?” Ryoo jumps, swiveling around to find Vader watching her. Luke tucks himself safely behind her legs again, still clutching the N-1. “That will not end well for you. We are several hundred feet in the air.” She crosses her arms. Why is this building so freaking cold?

“If it was possible for me to escape, I doubt you would’ve left me alone to figure it out.” Not that I’m giving up trying, she adds silently. He raises an eyebrow. 

“You are more clever than I gave you credit for. I suppose my master was right.” He walks from the room, gesturing for her to follow. Ryoo glances down at Luke, who heads hesitantly for the door. He travels down the hallway and to the right, opening the door on the end which actually does have a keypad. Vader has headed out into the main room. The dread rises back up, but she squishes it and follows Luke.

He’s left the door to the end room open and relaxes once she enters what appears to be a refresher. The sink is running warmish water and a dispenser on the wall holds liquid soap. Ryoo’s mother had always said you can tell a lot about people from the way they keep their house. Reflecting on the cold utility of the entire place, Ryoo thinks that her mother must’ve been right.

“Why are you washing your hands?” she asks as Luke turns off the water and dries his hands on a thin towel. 

“You gotta wash your hands before dinner,” he states, “Momma’s rule.” Then he flinches, hastily adding, “Aunt. I meant auntie’s rule.” Is it possible for this situation to make her more sad?

“How do you know it’s dinner time?” He just shrugs, picking up the N-1 and disappearing into his room, keeping one eye on her the whole way. Ryoo grips the sink, staring into the mirror hanging over it. The dread rears its ugly head, surging from the locked drawers. What the hell. What the hell. What is going on? Her breath feels stuck in her lungs, the world feels like too much, the thought of walking into the other room seems impossible. What is wrong with me, she wonders, is it the wound? Or the situation? Sit here and have dinner with the guy who murdered your parents (probably), your sister (maybe), and kidnapped you and your brother. Who’s had your brother here for god knows how long and likes to casually mention your imminent death. She can’t do this.

“Ryoo? Are you ready?” Someone tugs on the hem of her shift. It’s Luke. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She has to do this. For Luke. Calm down, be brave, hold on. She’s still alive. Oh, she prays, Shiraya help me. Help us. Ryoo fixes a smile onto her face and gives her hands a perfunctory rinse. It’s just dinner. Maybe. Luke could be completely wrong. Maybe Vader’s leaving and she’ll have time to hide and think. 

The world would have no such luck. Luke is, indeed, correct. She finds herself seated at a table with Darth Vader, the Emperor’s attack dog, destroyer of her family. Most family dinners at her house have an air of organized chaos and togetherness, and even the rough ‘what’s this I hear about your grades’ kind of ones have an undercurrent of ‘it’ll all be over soon’. Not this one. They’re eating soup of some sort, strongly flavored. It is utterly silent. Ryoo hasn’t sat a meal this tense since the Inquisitor hovered over the table a couple of days ago. Days ago, or weeks? 

Luke eats far more quietly than normal. Especially on a soup night. He would always go insane about the soup spoons they would use. No one could forget the great debacle of Pooja’s first culinary class, when she learned the spoons they were using, were, in fact, sugar spoons. There was a minor skirmish when she decided to share the news. It had become a joke between them, and Ryoo had always wondered-

Being sad is like falling into a well. You think you know where the bottom is, you think it can’t get any darker, and then you crash through a new layer and your entire scale is upended. And at the beginning of all this she’d thought her parents ‘betrayal’ had been a big deal. 

“I assume you have found your quarters?” Vader says. Table manners, even if you’re wearing a sorry excuse for a slip while dining with your psychotic long-lost uncle. She swallows before responding.

“The room at the end on the right, I think.” Silence, tenser than a demon in a temple. Are they supposed to be conversing? Luke’s spoon clatters against his bowel, and he glances at Vader.

“Are you gonna train Ryoo, too?” Vader looks down at the boy, who flinches but makes eye contact. 

“I will not.” His gaze pivots to her, and she has to concentrate on putting the spoon down normally. “I do, however, have a use for you. We can discuss this further once you’ve fully recovered from your injuries.” A use for her? She grips her spoon tightly. That’s something the creepy guys say in the stories right before the hero bursts in and saves them. 

“You’re going to... _train_ Luke?” Like a dog? She adds that last bit mentally. Vader nods. Whoever taught this guy diplomacy neglected to mention the fact that, in some cultures, prolonged eye-contact can be considered rude and unsettling. “To do what?”

“He is my apprentice. I will instruct him in the ways of the Force and, one day, we will rule the galaxy as father and... son.” There’s a pause that Ryoo doesn’t miss, but she’s also not brave enough to pry further. The meal is finished in silence, and when it’s over Luke heads for the couch after carrying his plate to the small kitchen area. She does the same, although she hasn’t finished all of her soup. Family dinner? Terrifying. Solo dinner with Vader? Just the thought is enough to make her stomach clench so tightly she doesn’t want any more food.

Luke sits on the floor, peering under the coffee table that Ryoo guarantees no one has ever set a cup of coffee on. He pulls out another toy starfighter, still familiar but not quite his beloved N-1. He holds it out in a tiny hand, and she grabs it, turning the piece of plastic over and over again in her hands. 

“Do you know which one this is, Lulu?” That nickname. He hates that nickname. But it makes him smile, and he points right at the ship.

“A Y-wing! See? It’s shaped like a ‘Y’. It’s a bomber _and_ a fighter. And it’s really awesome.” That’s the most he’s spoken all day. Or at least since she’s shown up. “Have you ever flyed a ship?” Ryoo rolls her eyes.

“You know I haven’t,” she reminds him, “I’m pretty sure I would’ve told you.” This is fine. She can pretend that it’s normal, that they’re playing starfighters on the rug in the living room. Especially if it gets Luke to come out of his shell. “And it’s ‘flown’, not ‘flyed’. Have _you_ ever flown a ship?” He giggles and grins as she plops down onto the rug.

“I have not!” She smiles back. He giggled. He actually giggled! Thank Shiraya. 

“Are you _suuure_?” He giggles again, and she pokes him with the nose of the bomber.

“Of course! I’m too tiny! I wouldn’t fit!” She smiles. It’s easy to calm down.

“Are you going to?” He nods, taking the Y-wing back.

“Mmhm. Like Mr. Thorne or Kormé’s auntie.” There’s a moment of hesitation and then he swings the ship through the air, making it fly without doing zooming noises. She’ll take it. “Or like the boy in that story Auntie Padmé used to tell me. The one who helped her save-” He stops abruptly, his face going pale. The Y-wing hangs in the air as the moment shatters, then drops to his lap.

Ryoo becomes aware of Vader quite suddenly, like she’s waking from some sort of weird dream. He’s watching them; he’s been watching them. He had to have heard. The moment stretches on. Is he going to move? She’s too afraid to look. Is he going to shout? Hit Luke? For what, forgetting? Is she about to learn why her brother is so afraid? A chair scrapes the ground behind them. He’ll hurt Luke. She has to do _something_. 

“Yes,” Ryoo blurts, “My Auntie Padmé. I always liked that story. Especially the part where she tricked the Neimoidians with her bodyguards.” Silence. Utter silence. She remembers the conversation they had maybe thirty minutes ago, the one where he reminded her that she should be dead. He’ll hurt Luke; he’ll kill her. And then her baby brother will be alone. Maybe her lame attempt at diffusion has failed, but she had to try. Footsteps, slow and deliberate. The table can’t be that far away. She keeps her eyes on Luke. 

“Your mother, Luke.” He pauses, and Ryoo digs her fingers into her thighs. There’s not enough to tell whether he’s going to be angry or not. “Padmé was your mother, not your aunt.” Carefully controlled words. She forces herself to breathe. And then Vader steps around her and gets down on the floor beside Luke, moving the coffee table over an inch or two with a careless gesture.

“I’m sorry.” He scoots away from his father, inching his way to Ryoo’s side and tucking himself in. She wraps her arm around him, feeling the tremor that runs through his body. How long has it been since someone’s hugged him? The masked man certainly doesn’t seem like the type.

But there isn’t a masked man. Not even much of a murderer. He watches them closely, like they’re a fascinating scene. It makes her uncomfortable, but she doesn’t think he’s trying to. Luke still holds the N-1 on his lap. They’re sitting inches away from the man who shattered their world, and the small boy is not running. That’s a miracle in of itself. 

“You like ships, then?” Vader’s trying to be casual. And he can be, which she knows. But it feels so strange here, in this freezing, manufactured room on relatively hard floors. Luke looks up at Ryoo, like she might have the answers. She nods her head. He can talk. They’re not in danger.

“Yeah,” Luke says. Eyes wide, hand trembling, he picks up the bright yellow starfighter on his lap and holds it out for inspection. Vader takes it from him gently and examines it, flipping it over in his hands. “I’m gonna be a pilot.” A small smile, quite the foreign expression, breaks out on Vader’s face.

“Of course.” Luke still clings tight to Ryoo’s side, but he doesn’t tremble anymore. “I’ll teach you, when you’re old enough.” The boy’s eyes widen. She thinks of the wool. She was supposed to teach him that, when he was old enough.

“Are you a pilot?” Vader nods, handing him back the N-1. Luke sits up. “Do you know stories?” Ryoo watches the pair cautiously, but nothing seems immediately amiss. Is he back to living room Vader? The polite man who sat on the opposite end of the couch and smiled at his long-lost son? It’s been minutes since their tense dinner and less than an hour since he told her he should kill her. She has to keep up her guard.

“I know quite a few.” He glances at the N-1. Maybe his eyes aren’t so horrible when he’s calm. Then they shift to her, and she decides that that’s not a completely true statement. “I know the one you spoke of. The Invasion of Naboo.” 

“Can you tell us? Please?” Vader smiles. And actual, large smile. The expression completely transforms his face. Despite his yellow eyes and pale skin, she can see an echo of the person underneath. Ryoo never met Anakin Skywalker, other than the brief visit when she was younger. His face is fuzzy. But she supposes that he might have smiled like this. And then it diminishes and the spell is broken.

“Maybe not tonight.” Luke’s face falls. Vader adds, “I have a lot of stories, however. Have you ever heard of the skirmish on Scipio?” Luke hasn’t, but Ryoo has. She doesn’t think he’ll be all that interested in the political portions. Still, there are plenty of explosions and double-crosses. And as Vader begins to speak, his sentences becoming less clipped and more natural, she finds herself just as drawn in as her brother.

But it’s a story about Auntie Padmé. Ryoo listens carefully as Vader describes her aunt’s actions with a bit of contempt, the fate of Rush Clovis with a little too much glee. He’s still Vader. He still killed her family, and he can easily kill the rest of them. But here, sitting on the rug next to her wide-eyed brother, she lets herself relax. Just a little, while she still can.

Ryoo is still alive. Still planning to escape, if she can. But, just for a moment, she forgets to be afraid.

* * *

They’re jammed into his son’s bunk, the child sandwiched between the girl’s body and the wall. He’s sound asleep, his mind swirling around in the fog of dreams. The girl is awake, but pretending not to be. Her mind tastes of fear.

The boy is facing him, eyes shut. He’s curled into the girl’s body like a small animal. The girl’s hair is spread out around her face, and one of his hands is tangled in it. The profile, the lighting, the drape of her arms... the girl looks, for a moment, to be his wife.

Didn’t you kill her, a part of him asks, didn’t you murder her? In cold blood? After days of torture? Any man to do that under your command would be swiftly disciplined. Of course, that was long ago. Look at yourself now. I’m sure they’d all be very proud. He closes his eyes, tries to block the scene of family in front of him. You get results. You are Vader. Not the man who would’ve let her slip through his fingers in the name of mercy.

“I know you’re awake,” he says quietly. The girl sits up, a carefully neutral expression on her face. Beneath that is terror, though he can’t imagine why. His son stirs. The girl glances down, brushing the hair from his face. The eyes soften, a little. He is glad he did not kill her.

He makes his way to the side of the bed and she freezes, watching him like the mouse watches the tooka. The boy. His son. He wonders... the boy stirs again, whimpering. Before the girl can, before he can stop himself, the man with darkness inside him runs a light hand down his son’s back. And again. The dream fog around the child’s mind is dark, full of fear. Useful. Fear is fuel. He should tug on the cloud, deepen it- why is there horror? Horror at that thought, horror at his actions...

The child calms, mind easing, and rolls over to face the wall. He’s cradling the pillow, his starfighters perched on the edge of the dresser. The girl watches him carefully. 

“You have your own room, as I’m sure you’re aware.” She sucks in a deep breath.

“Luke asked me to stay with him. I think he feels safer in here when he’s not alone.” Terror still runs behind the words. What is she afraid of? He’s not even wearing his saber. 

“He is a Sith apprentice,” he hears himself saying, “he is not meant to feel safe.” He pushes gently at the boundaries of the girl’s mind, seeking the source of her terror. There are only murky images, but-

Oh.

She’s not just afraid of him, but also her bare legs, and his bare torso, and the lack of anyone in the apartment. The Inquisitor he sent is there, and his words. All of her assumptions...

The girl is afraid that he will touch her. Take her into his bed. Lie with her.

He takes a quick step backwards, away from the terrified girl. He has wanted women, and had them. Women with curly dark hair and brown eyes. The one who spoke in her voice, the one dressed in green that Sidious throws at him, the stupid and beautiful woman herself at their last meeting. Women. _Women_. Not coltish children crying over the dead.

Vader turns, although he wants to stay. To calm the girl, sit with the children. Where has all of this come from? He’s going to make the girl his tool, the boy his right hand. Track down the daughter and the interloper who stole her and make him pay. He is not going to comfort them, either of them. But he stops in the doorway, staring at his office door.

“You may share her face,” he says, “but you are my niece. And very young. I do not intend to dishonor you.” Silence. Was he expecting a response? As he steps forward, the girl blurts,

“He told me you weren’t unkind, but he said that you feel cold. And that the blue man told him something, but it’s a secret. Do you know what that means?” Her voice is quiet, so as to not wake his son. Wise, probably. But her words are troubling. Cold. Yes, a disciple of the dark side would seem as such to a youngling. But a blue man? Perhaps a hologram. When he would’ve seen one is beyond him. A Pantoran? A Chiss?

Vader shall have to question the boy later. At length. But for now he just says, “It is none of your concern,” and departs.

Alone in his chambers, a blinking red light rouses him from meditation. He cracks an eye, checks the chrono, and sighs. It had better be important.

“ _Lord Vader_ ,” says the tinny voice, “ _Eighth Sister has failed to apprehend, but we do have a lead._ ” Rage, crackling at the edge of his mind. He keeps it at bay for a moment. The anger is a blade to be wielded later.

“Out with it, then.” He can almost hear the poor creature sweating on the other end of the line.

“ _The security officer she travels with goes by the name of Erlo River. He is but a boy; no one has told him anything about the rebellion or informed him of the princess’s true birth._ ” Vader remains silent. The voice continues, “ _This means he has no contacts. No help. Nowhere to hide. We have an updated description of his person and a description of the freighter he departed on. Intelligence is working on a ID now._ ”

“I fail to see how this is anything but a disgrace on the part of the Inquisitor.” Silence. Then,

“ _We have one more piece of news_.” Of course. They save the important information in hopes of improving his mood. It makes no difference. Eighth sister will still pay. “ _Our spies have cracked the files found in the pile of data wrested from the suicidal Alderaani technician_.”

“And?” If the news isn’t truly good, the person who decided to comm him will not see another day on his staff. Or anywhere.

“ _Most of the files are incomplete and merely implicate the Organas further. However, we were able to recover an encoded message to an agent known as Fulcrum sent after the data purge._ ” Vader’s breath catches. Very few know of that frequency. Although it could be a coincidence. It must be, considering most who knew it are dead.

“Is there a recording?” He stares into the red eye of the comm on his office wall.

“ _It’s an old style message made up of text. We believe the rebel saved drafts on a singular account and spoke only in code. Nothing is certain, but this fragment... the contents are most interesting, if we’ve interpreted them correctly._ ” 

“Send it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erlo chunk is a bit short today. Sorry about that! Hope the longer Vader made up for it.
> 
> As the space travel continues, I’d like to mention that I only have an idea of how the physics of hyperspace work or how long it should take to get between any of these planets. I don’t feel like calculating it, either. So yeah, the space-time bits are going to be mostly plot convenient.
> 
> Thank you for reading and have a great weekend!


	7. New Horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of the mental/emotional trauma.

The bandage comes off easier than she expected. A slight tug, a little bit of tenderness. But she can raise her arms above her head without wincing when the droid asks her to, so all of that is something Ryoo can live with.

It’s nice to be out of the apartment, although she’s not really happy to be in an exam room either. The droid pokes and prods with little regard for her comfort and it’s colder in here than it is in the other rooms. At least she has pants this time. It still feels weird to not be walking around in a full skirt, but they cover her legs. Vader has also deigned to send her alone. Apparently he has finally gotten the message that it makes people uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of him. 

“You may re-dress,” the medical droid says in its strange, toneless voice, “your wounds have healed. I shall inform Lord Vader.” Ryoo snatches her shirt off the side of the exam table and quickly pulls it over her head. No pain. The medical droid must be telling the truth.

She’s not alone for long when the door slides open and admits a stormtrooper, his expression unreadable beneath the shiny white helmet. Something seems familiar about him, but that’s a stupid thing to say considering that a lot of the troopers are clones. The man stands there for a moment before muttering,

“Follow me.” Ryoo slides off the exam table, realizing that this is going to be a long walk. She’s developed something of a sixth sense for tension since her father dropped the bombshell about Luke a million years ago, and the silence between her and the trooper as they march down the white-walled medical wing is definitely strung with emotions. It’s more confusing than anything else; most troopers here have an air of cool disinterest as they escort her throughout the mysterious imperial building.

The mysterious imperial building. She’s only been here for three days, (that she can remember), and she still knows very little about the general structure. Other than a once-daily trip to the medical wing, most of that has been spent confined in Vader’s apartment. Not a terrible place, all things considered, but it’s not home. It’s not her parents sleeping down the hall, it’s Vader. They aren’t her holobooks stacked neatly on the table in the ‘sitting room’, they’re generic entries downloaded from the holonet. Even though Luke’s started leaving tiny, filmsi notes for her wherever he thinks she’ll find them, the whole place still feels as cold and sterile as the exam room.

Now it hits her, when she’s thinking about home. Why the trooper seems familiar. There are a few tiny specks of blue paint on his helmet. It could just be a coincidence, but she thinks it might be Radi. The one who shot her. Should she say something? Or should she let it go?

They march on past the various labs, rooms full of labcoats and exam tables and tinted glass. She tries not to look, she really does, but she can’t help but see a few glimpses of the strange, pale children. Always the same few; a shaved little human with bandages over her eyes, a washed-out Natulan with a bunch of tubes in his arms, a girl around the same age as Ryoo whose face is set in an angry scowl.

The last one catches her eye, nodding as Ryoo walks past her observation room. A pair of labcoats stand one either side of her, poking and prodding and chatting with each other. While she watches, the girl picks up a lazy arm and, with no visible contact, _throws one of them into the glass._ Maybe-Radi stops in his tracks. Ryoo’s mouth drops open. How did she do that? The girl lifts her hand towards the other labcoat, who presses a button on a remote with a bored look on his face. She stops instantly, doubling over as electricity dances over her skin.

“Hey,” says a voice from behind her. She turns and it’s Maybe-Radi, staring at her. “We should get moving.” Ryoo sucks in a deep breath and nods, trying not to look at the poor unconscious girl as a the labcoat prods her with a needle. The hallways are quiet after that, just troopers and labcoats.

Then the hallways change. All Ryoo notices at first is that they should’ve been back at the apartment by now, but then the tiles become larger, the walls become darker. The lighting goes from ‘operating room’ to ‘dim office’. She looks around with interest as they pass the first non-lab coat who’s not wearing plastoid. A young man, his uniform neat and distinctly imperial. He barely glances her way. 

The halls slowly become more crowded after that. Dark shirts and pants, code cylinders tucked into their pockets, self-satisfied looks on their faces. Important people, or folks who think they are. Then there are the droids, funny little mouse boxes, a couple of astromech couriers and even a handful of protocol models. It’s more to look at than she’s had in a while, and she tries to remember it all. Maybe she’ll be able to get an accurate count of the staff, and estimate the size of the facility. If she can get that, she can narrow down where they are. An unlocked datapad would be helpful.

Yellow eyes startle her as they round a corner. Ryoo stops dead, some sort of aid bumping into her from behind. Yellow eyes, pale skin, a strange, half-moon object hanging from the belt... it’s an Inquisitor. The woman sneers at her, heading around the bend without further interaction. Maybe-Radi tugs on her arm, and continues onward as if nothing happens. An Inquisitor. Of course there are Inquisitors here. That doesn’t mean they won’t make her flinch.

Finally, after walking for a very long time, they arrive at a double wide door panel down a far more isolated corridor. It slides open and the trooper enters without hesitating, leaving Ryoo no choice but to follow. She has no reason to resist. Running away without Luke would be pointless and stupid. She hesitates, though, on the threshold. What if this is somehow worse than-

Than what _,_ she asks herself, what could they possible do? It’s not like they’re going to kill her now. Torturing her would be useless, considering that no one ever told her anything useful. She takes a deep breath and steps into a large room with a much higher ceiling.

A gymnasium; that’s what this place is, a small gymnasium. Wooden flooring (or at least a convincing illusion), tall, neutrally colored panels, an equipment closet set into the far wall. All the place is missing is bleachers and murals. Standing just inside the door is Maybe-Radi, and down near the equipment closet is a single chair. A green skinned woman sits in it, arms folded. Beside her is a motionless droid. Ryoo shivers as the woman’s gaze passes over her, scrutinizing. A few moments pass. The woman does not move and neither does Ryoo.

And then a laugh. The woman, yellow-eyes naming her an Inquisitor, is laughing at Ryoo.

“You can go, trooper, I’ll take it from here.” Maybe-Radi nods sharply, marching from the gym and closing the door behind him. The woman gestures, and the droid lifts her chair, carrying her the length of the room. It’s quite strange, and she finds herself moving away. The metal man places her directly in front of Ryoo, who’s backed herself up against the wall, then retreats a respectable distance. “Well this is quite interesting. Usually the ones they throw me are at least a little bit sensitive. Did the emperor send you here?” 

“I- uh, I don’t know who sent me here,” Ryoo says, “but-” The woman blinks, looking distinctly unimpressed. Ryoo sighs. There are tattoos on the woman’s face. “You’re Mirilian, aren’t you?” It’s the first thing she could think of, and she winces when the woman’s gaze darkens. Then she shrugs.

“You’re human. Does it really matter now?” She raises a hand. “No, I know that one. Tell me why you’re here. A few sentences should be sufficient.” Ryoo swallows. This woman is odd, but not quite as terrifying as some Inquisitors she’s met.

“The trooper escorted me here from the medbay. I was there because that same trooper shot me. He shot me because my family was harboring a fugitive. That fugitive is my four year old brother. Vader wanted him for some reason, so now we’re here.” The words tumble out quite quickly. She thinks the woman might have twitched a little at Vader’s name, but she otherwise remains unmoved.

“Excellent. You have a name?” Maybe there’s a law that says people with scary eyes have to stare at people who don’t.

“Ryoo Naberrie.” The woman cackles again, shaking her head as the laughter tapers off. “Is, uh, something wrong with that?”

“No, no, I just find it humerous. You’re Nubian. You’ve got curly hair and dark eyes. I know why you’re here.” There’s a grin on the woman’s face, and Ryoo doesn’t like it. “I’d feel bad for you, really, you seem to be the first one he’s ever kept.” She claps her hands, and the droid carries her to the far wall. “Fortunately, I do not allow my feelings to interfere with my tasks. I happen to like surviving; and if you do, too, you should pay very close attention. Take a few steps forward and then give me some push-ups.” Did she hear that correctly?

“I-” Walking in here may have made her feel a little bit nostalgic, but she doesn’t actually want to participate in gym class. There’s a sudden push, as if someone's shoved her from behind, but when she turns there’s no one there.

“You might as well get on with it.” Ryoo takes a deep breath and sinks to the floor. Her arms tremble as she puts her weight on them, the lingering pain in her stomach surging. Is this even possible? “Come on, girl, don’t make me send Titus over there.” She’s not sure who Titus is, but assumes it’s the droid. Right. Push-ups. She’ll have to try.

Down. Up. Down. Up. At two, her arms are burning and her stomach hurts worse than the first bandage change.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” she gasps, rocking back onto her heels. The woman frowns. No, that’s an understatement; the woman _scowls_. The droid takes two steps forward, and that’s enough for her. 

Down. Up. Down. Up. Four, and a few deep and trembly armed breaths.

Down. Up. Down. Up. Six. Is this even possible? Apparently so. She’s not sure for how long, though.

Down. Up. Down. Up. Eight.

Down. Up. Down... up? She can’t rise. And she tries. She’s just stuck.

“Did I say you could stop?” The woman’s voice is harsher, more demanding. Metallic footsteps flank over the gym floor, and a foot prods her sharply in the side. Ryoo sits up, scrambling away from the droid. It follows quickly, delivering several more decisive kicks.

“You think that you can just give up?” The droid follows her no matter how fast she moves. She’s got to get up. But she can’t. Everything hurts, hurts like it did when they shot her but this time there’s no one to scream or hear her scream. “Well, you can’t. I am a servant of the Emperor; I train those they send me. My methods are extreme, but so is the task they have in mind for you. If you cannot survive this, then you cannot survive what Vader has planned.” There’s no scream.

The metal foot slams into her ribs and she cries out, shoving to her feet. The droid’s speed increases and her eyes dart around the room, looking for a way out. There’s nothing. Nothing.

“Good,” the woman says, “give Titus some excercise before you go down.” Ryoo is going down. It’s inevitable. The droid sweeps a leg under hers and sends her sprawling to the floor, vulnerable to more attacks. “I can’t kill you, unfortunately. He told me I couldn’t. But I can break your bones. Scratch you up. Shall I put gash in your pretty little face?”

The droid raises a leg, ready to stomp directly down on her chest. Its eyes glow a malevolent red, unseeing and killer. Ryoo rolls to the side as the foot falls, avoiding the crushing blow. She gets up as quickly as she can. There’s got to be something. There has to be. The equipment locker?

“Try running, I’m sure you’ll get quite far.” Ryoo slams into the door, the droid on her tail. She’s out of breath and her hands tremble as she punches the buttons. Nothing. Nothing. It’s locked! She slams her hand against the wall, jumping out of the way as droid follows suit. It was probably aiming for her head, but it leaves a momentary dent in the already scarred panel. “Nice try, but I’m not stupid. There’s nowhere to run.”

What now? She’s been given an impossible challenge. The droid won’t get tired and she can’t exactly defeat it with her bare hands. It follows her as she scans the room again, same panels, same floor, same chair, same smug woman. Dead end. Is this how that girl in the exam room felt as the shocks closed in around her?

“Yes, I think I will teach you a lesson.” Needle-like claws pop out of the droid’s fingers with an unpleasant _thwink_. “Give you a scratch. Scars are wonderful lessons. I know that better than most.” Her back, against the wall, the droid closing in. She’s back in the dim guest room as Eleventh Brother steps towards her, in Luke’s tiny bunk as she hears Vader approach. She’s standing beside Pooja and there are troopers with guns pointed at her face, and one fires and-

The droid is in front of her. She has to move.

She has to move.

She has to move.

She can’t move. Her feet are stuck. To the gym floor, to the carpet in the guest’s, to the hallway, to the bunk- 

There is a droid trying to kill her now. Right now. She has to move. And so she does, pulling out of the way. Needles slice into the wall, leaving long scored in the panel. So the droid isn’t as fast as her. Good to know, good to know.

“Where should it go?” The green skinned woman continues to taunt, which is not helpful for Ryoo’s concentration. “Your face... now that would be a bit cliché. Perhaps a leg, then? An arm, a hand...” The woman hasn’t moved. Not once. She has a droid carry her around. What is it? What does it mean? Her voice is poisoned honey. “Your stomach, I think. Not too deep- wouldn’t want to go aggravating the old wound. Yes, that would be a nice spot... displayed right where your lover can see.”

What? Ryoo stops, wasting a precious second staring at the woman. She quickly snaps from it, darting away from the pursuing droid, but her mind is racing. Lover? Last time Ryoo checked, she doesn’t have one of those. She hasn’t even really kissed anyone. The woman can’t mean...

“Oh yes,” and she laughs, tossing her head back and gripping the arms of her chair, “I know why you’re not dead. You’re a bit young, although I’m sure that doesn’t bother him. Like I said, you’re not the first. If _that_ makes you feel better. Although he usually kills them. He’ll be furious when I cut you up, but I’m sure it’ll be worth the pain. He’s already taken what his master allows. It’ll be entertaining.”

The woman can’t move. Not under her own power. The woman controls the droid. Ryoo will do what she has to do. With a leap forward, she races towards the woman. Yellow eyes widen, shocked. But pleased? There aren’t any weapons. Not on her, not in the room... fingers.

Somewhere between Ryoo’s side and the woman’s face, her fist becomes a hand and the punch becomes a slap. The woman smiles upon impact, raising a hand. The droid stops, and Ryoo can’t move. But the woman is smiling. Why?

“Maybe there’s hope for you yet, girl.” The woman rests her chin on a hand as she studies Ryoo a second time. “Yes, I can work with this. Congratulations. Most do not do so well on their first day.” The strange feeling of actually stuck recedes, and she finds herself able to move. 

“I am not Vader’s lover.” It’s the first thing she can think of to say. The woman nods, a different and more neutral expression settling on her face.

“I know. You’ve been saddled with a task far worse.” The woman sighs, and gestures for the droid. It lifts her in its arms, like she’s some sort of doll. “We are done for the day, Ryoo. The trooper will take you back to your apartment.” Ryoo heads for the door, not daring to turn her back. With two (three, if you count Vader) data points, Ryoo thinks it’s safe to conclude that Inquisitors are all incredibly unstable and terrifying. The woman watches her go.

The door slides open, revealing Maybe-Radi. Before she can leave, the woman calls,

“One more thing.” Her expression is back to the strange half-smirk smile. “You may call me Riss.”

* * *

“I can’t do that.” His son’s small, stubborn eyes are fixated on the ball between them.

“Yes,” Vader hisses, “you can.” The boy shrinks back, looking up at him. Vader can sense the fear. It gives him a small measure of satisfaction. “Your fear is a passion. It will give you strength. Now lift the ball.” 

The boy nods silently and focuses on the ball. For a moment, nothing happens.

“I dunno how.” That... might be true. Vader has never been required to explain the process to someone. He had simply assumed the child would know. How to describe it? His first Padawan-

No. There have been no ‘Padawans’. Not that old, extinct Jedi term. He has one apprentice, the one seated in front of him. Unless... but no. In any case, if he had taught an apprentice, they would have been well-versed in the basic tools of the Force. This child must be instructed from the bottom up.

“You have touched the Force.” Blue eyes blink up at him. “We have done that several times together. Touch it now. Feel the energy around you, feel it flow through your bones. Then direct the energy at the ball. Touch it. Grasp it.” The boy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He is so eager to please. Training him shall be easier for it, though it may require adjustment further down the line. 

The ball wobbles, floundering around on the short carpet. 

“Now lift.” Almost subconsciously, the boy reaches out a small hand. The ball follows its trajectory, floating just above the carpet. It wobbles there for several moments before his son drops it back onto the rug. His eyes fly open and stare at the ball.

“Did it work?” Vader smiles behind his mask, feeling a small glimmer of pride.

“It did indeed.” There’s a sudden beeping from the comm he’s silenced on his wrist. That can only mean one thing. It sends a burst of frustrated anger through him, the man who lied to him pulling him out of a training session. But all in good time. Sidious will fall soon, and then there will be much time to train.

He presses the accept button, rising to one knee as his master pops up in holographic form. The boy watches with interest.

“ _Lord Vader._ ” The old Sith draws the syllables of his name out. 

“Master.” The word grates on his tongue.

“ _I have a mission for you, my apprentice._ ” Vader inclines his head. “ _There is insurgent activity in the Andron system. The officers I’ve sent have met with some... interesting resistance. I would like for you to go and investigate_.”

“Yes, master.” There is humor the man’s darkened expression, nearly indiscernible through the hood.

“ _Leave immediately_.” Vader prepares to end the transmission. “ _And Lord Vader?_ ” Beetlelike eyes stare at him, ghostly through the hologram. “ _I am most anxious to meet your recent acquisitions. They will make valuable spies for my empire._ ”

He ends the transmission and throws the ball across the room, smashing it into the wall with incredible force. The boy cowers on the floor. Sidious. The snake.

Vader will not suffer under _his_ empire for too much longer. Soon it will be a place all his own.

Their own. He glances down at his son. They shall rule the galaxy together, as they should’ve from the start.

His only regret is that his daughter is not yet present.

* * *

Erlo doesn’t quite remember falling asleep but he feels well rested when he finds himself awake. His cloak is tucked about him like a blanket, the floor beside him littered with pieces of braided rope. They’re not awful. Divani had promised to show him how to do the braids on Leia if Mirdu let him out before they left.

If Mirdu let him out... He sits up, surveying the room. It’s empty, the crate of whatever shoved into the corner and the door firmly shut. There’s no way of reaching the wall panel from his cell, and there’s no chance of getting out through the vents. It’s not like he can blame them; he did leap onto their ship at the last second before it took off. He’s fairly lucky they haven’t dropped into the nearest system and handed him over to the imps. 

But can he trust them? Apparently there’s some mysterious contact on Tirahnn, which he thinks he’s read about. The planet, not the contact. It’s something of a gigantic market, with some of the bazaars stretching out for thousands of miles. He doesn’t remember much else. It was just another place he was never going to visit. In any case, the crew could probably do anything with them there and not hear a word about it from authorities. Sure, a crowded market can hide anti-imperial sympathizers, but it can also hide slavers, bounty hunters, undercover imperial agents, terrorists, and any number of garden variety sleemos.

After thinking about it carefully during the silent guard rotations, Erlo had realized there were two options. Go along with the spacers, or run away from them as soon as they hit soil. The latter’s not likely to help if they are turning him in, or if they land on some sort of pirate planet, but, as his father used to say, _‘The best plans are flexible_ ’. 

The only problem is that he’s still not sure which way to go. If he leaves, he could be missing out on his only chance at a proper explanation. If he stays, he could be walking right into a trap. And that’s if leaving is possible! The last guard rotation before he must’ve fallen asleep was spent picking over the minutia and running through every scenario he could think of. 

And then there’s Leia. The princess doesn’t really have a filter, or seem to understand what stealth means. She’d probably just blow their cover immediately, if not outright refuse to leave. There’s not any time to chat with her about it, considering he hasn’t been allowed out except for carefully monitored ‘fresher trips.

He sighs. It can’t be that long now; they’re going to get where they’re going eventually. Spending all of his time worrying about it is an exercise in futility. As if in response to his thoughts, the door to the brig slides open. It’s Divani, carrying a pile of something. Leia’s hot on her tail. Instead of the butchered dress-tank top combo, she’s wearing clothes that actually appear to be made for children. While the pants, shirt, and boots seem a tad large on her, it’s still better than whatever he cooked up on the transport ‘fresher. 

“Morning, Erlo,” the Theelin says, “I’ve got some good news. We’ll be outta hyperspace soon and you can finally get outta your box.” So he has to decide quickly. Wonderful.

“Great.” He stands up, giving the pile of what appears to be clothing a look. “For me, I assume?” Divani nods.

“I grabbed what I thought might fit ya. Promise not to attack if I open the door?” Erlo takes a few steps away from the bars, trying to appear less threatening. The thought to run now crosses his mind, but they’re not on the planet yet. He’s also not certain he could bring himself to attack Divani. Not when she’s been so kind. 

He digs through the pile that’s been unceremoniously dumped on the floor, and pulls out a vest.

“Can I ask why you have so much spare clothing on board?” Divani grins.

“Let’s just say there were a couple of interesting years before our ‘no more strays’ policy.” Erlo glances at the pile. He’d thought nothing of it on the transport, but clothes have meaning. Sure, he didn’t give a damn about his trainee uniform, but the clothes he’s wearing now belonged to that old couple’s son. There’s history to them. They mean something. And all of this lying in front of him... it belonged to someone. It had a life.

_Sentimentality gets you shot._ Erlo picks up a random vest and puts it off to the side. It’s just clothes. He needs to calm down. That’s what his father would say; he’s supposed to be protecting Leia, not the elderly couple’s feelings. 

And a small part of him feels guilty for caring about the clothes when he left his father behind to die on Alderaan.

“Come on, shorty,” Divani says to Leia, “let’s step out so your buddy can get changed.” He pulls his shirt over his head and dumps it on the pile. The cloak goes, too, a relic from that first, terrifying flight-

Erlo takes a deep breath and sits down among the piles. Why is he feeling like this? It’s been two weeks at least since Alderaan, and he hasn’t cracked once. Not when he left the palace, not when he had his chat with the armor person in the ‘fresher, not when an ‘Inquisitor’ chased them down, and not when he got himself locked in a brig, technically failing the mission. And maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s just tired of being tossed around like a leaf in the water, never knowing when he’s going to crash and when he’s going to rest.

All at once, a wave of... everything hits him. Loss, despair, exhaustion, fear, uncertainty, grief. All of it. It’s like getting hit by a stun blast, slamming into his chest and taking his breath away. His father is good-as dead. His home is gone. No one is coming to save him. His only hope is that maybe, just maybe, the people of this ship and their allies are going to help him. 

He takes a deep breath. _Calm, cool, and collected. With an attitude like that. Complacency breeds chaos. Pain is weakness leaving the body._ Mantras. Familiar as his name. And none of them are helping. Of course they won’t, because they’re the mantras of a royal guard, not a fugitive teenage boy trying to care for a kid.

Clothes. Clothes. One step at a time. He can’t worry right now, he has a-

No. _No_. He’s done worrying later. It’s been ‘worry later’ for nearly his entire life. Erlo can’t remember the last time he was actually honest about his feelings. Sure, security concerns, but never he never talked about the good old noose of tradition with his father. The rush he got flying simulators. That boy he kissed, once, drunk off his ass at a party neither of them were supposed to be at. None of it. Never. 

Erlo’s short tenure as a security guard was terrible, and everything that’s happened afterward has been a fucking nightmare. He lets out a shaky breath, half-laugh and half-sob. He’s having a mental breakdown because of _clothes_. Although it’s more than that, and he knows it. And maybe there isn’t time. But he can’t keep trying to run without socks on. 

He has to do things differently. He has to step up, make choices, not follow protocol.

Erlo has to take control and leave with Leia, because letting himself get thrown around like this is something he can’t do anymore. Even if it means he has to walk away from an explanation. Even if it means he has to feel things. And even if it means he has to let Alderaan go. 

>⇟<

Tirahnn. Erlo’s wearing new clothes, he’s put his random junk assortment into a new belt, and he has two goals. One, get away from the spacers. Two, find the Blade of the Protector. Because even if he decides to spit in the eye of tradition, he’s going to try and keep that one thing safe. Maybe he can give it to Leia when she’s older. 

Masked Nadaya and crabby Lee are the ones who release him from the brig. He steps out of the cell, feeling very conspicuous. And also resolved. They lead him out into the hall, where Divani, Leia, and goggle-man (whose name he still doesn’t know) are waiting. Leia smiles at him.

“You’re not in jail now!” He smiles back.

“Nope.” A covert sweep of the room reveals that no one is wearing the dagger. Great. The four lead him to the cargo bay, where captain Mirdu is standing, looking very unpleased. As the man’s eyes land on Erlo, he can’t help but feel a little bit conspicuous. Like this man can see right through him.

“Can we trust you, kid?” Erlo struggles to maintain eye contact.

“I’m not going to tattle to the imperials, if that’s what you’re asking.” The Zabrak steps closer, holding out an object. It’s the dagger.

“Can we trust you,” he repeats, “not to stab one of us?” Erlo blinks. It feels cheap, somehow, to be given the dagger. Didn’t he just agree to stop getting thrown around by the galaxy? He takes it back anyway, clipping the sheath to his new belt.

“Of course.” Leia walks up beside him, taking his hand for the first time in days. He looks down at her and her nicely braided hair. She’s smiling. Why the hell is she smiling? Is Erlo someone who really deserves a smile? After a few seconds, the smile drops. That’s not a good thing, either. Hesitantly, he pastes some semblance of a smile onto his face. She grins again. Okay, maybe he can do this.

Nadaya presses a button on the freighter’s wall, sends the door sliding back into the wall and slowly exposing the beautiful chaos that is Tirahnn.

They’ve landed in the middle of a large, dirt field with ships stretching out in all directions. Lines crisscross the ground, reminding him of the public transport, with each ship in its own place. Plenty of them have goods for sale out front, a random assortment of junk scattered over tables and tarps. Further along it become truly crowded chaos, tumbledown stalls set in rows upon rows, selling things he’s sure he’s never even heard of before.

And good gods, if there aren’t so many people! Yeah, it’d be nothing short of miraculous for an Inquisitor to find them here. That means it’s the perfect place to disappear. Hell, from the deafening sound of the place Leia _screaming_ wouldn’t be enough to draw the crew’s attention. 

Still, it’s easier said than done. The spacers form up around them, moving in a pretty cohesive unit. Marching down the ‘street’, they’re absorbed by a flow of people that runs between the ships and into the market. Up ahead, above all the flapping fabrics and tall poles, he spots a few more permanent structures.

“Sure your buddy’ll meet us here?” Since Lee has to shout above the noise of the crowd, Erlo can hear pretty much everything. It’s quite useful. Leia squeezes tight to his hand, looking around the market with wide eyes. Maybe she’s never seen anything quite like this, either.

“I hope she does,” Mirdu replies, “otherwise we’re shit out of luck. It won’t take long for them to track down the _Lightwhip_. How many front-loading freighters do you see these days?” So many narrow alleyways, but no way to cut down one without making a scene. _Complacency breeds chaos_. If he plays along well enough, maybe he can break free of their hold.

And then Mirdu gives him a brief look over the shoulder, something between a glare and amusement. A look that says ‘don’t try it’. But how did he know? Maybe Erlo’s just not as sneaky as he thinks he is. 

He’s trying to break free from his old ruts. Come up with new plans. Break protocol. Sure, he could play along, but he has no idea where they’re going. They could be there within seconds and he’ll have missed his chance. What he really needs is a distraction. Something to throw them off just enough to let him escape in the chaos. He reaches to his belt and finds his broken grappling hook. 

A really, really old stand is coming up on the right. The surface is covered in fruit; meilooruns and jogans and Corellian apples. The wood holding it up is creaky, and the whole thing is clearly sagging. He’s got one good shot. And when there’s a gap in the crowd, Erlo throws the hook as hard as it can go into the stand’s base, splintering the ancient wood. Gravity takes care of the rest.

With a loud crash, the stand tilts forward and spills bright fruits into the lane. People shout and curse in dozens of languages, none louder than the fruit seller. The group around him halts, stopping to stare. Before anyone can realize what’s happened, he scoops Leia into his arms and runs for the nearest gap between stalls.

Chaos erupts behind him, beautiful chaos. He thinks someone might have grabbed at his shirt, but nothing manages to stick as he rushes through the market, heading in the general direction of the more permanent buildings and taking as many convoluted turns as possible. People shout at him as he runs by, occasionally knocking things over and nearly colliding with some on several occaisions. 

By the time he hits the first of the large, adobe buildings, Erlo is slowing down. He doesn’t seem to have any pursuers, and Leia’s squirming. Thankfully, she’s decided to keep her mouth shut. There are many narrow alleys between these buildings, too. He steps down one, and instantly leaps back. A Rodian, eyes murky and pale, lies curled at the other end of the alley. He sits up, his stare glazed. The man is on something. That’s more than enough to send Erlo the other way.

“Mr. River?” Leia asks quietly, “Why did we run?” He looks down another alleyway, which has a propped open door looking on it. Loud music blares from the cantina inside. No good there.

“I couldn’t trust them.” Leia frowns, kicking in his arms.

“Yeah, you could. They felt okay.” Erlo readjusts his grip, leaning against the side of a building. 

“Please stop.” She kicks even harder.

“I want down!” He sighs.

“I can’t put you down here. It’s not safe.” The kicking pauses, and she looks around thoughtfully. There’s a pile of trash down this one, which is more of an open channel. Something rustles inside of it ominously. He backs away.

“Do you remember the crying girl?” He looks at Leia, who’s staring at something behind him. This area of Tirahnn has a little less traffic, but still more than he’s used to. The crowd is also noticeably rougher. It’s entirely possible that there’s a crying girl running around behind them. “Her belly is better. She’ll cry less now.” 

“That’s great.” Seriously, where does the kid get this stuff? There’s a holoscreen on the front of a building behind him, projecting the imperial propoganda/news network. The announcer is saying words that he can’t make out over the general hum of the crowd. Okay. Searching for an alleyway was his first instinct, and it doesn’t seem to be working. That means it’s plan time.

Erlo needs money. Badly. He’s got nothing in the way of funds, and nothing worth selling. Well, unless you count the blade and maybe the coin, but he’s not _quite_ that desperate yet. They’ll have to eat, and maybe find a friendly table to sleep on. Leia kicks again, but he doesn’t dare set her down in this crowd. All of the people seem like they’d grab a kid and not think twice of it. Or maybe he’s being paranoid.

A little paranoia never hurt anyone.

So how is he going to get this money? Begging? His pride rejects that one immediately. They walk past a guy playing some sort of oboe on a street corner. People toss credits into his carefully guarded instrument case. Unfortunately, Erlo doesn’t really have what it takes to busk. 

There! In the window of a shop. Just four words, but four words he needs. He ignores the crew of the _Lightwhip_ (as it is apparently called), nagging at his conscience. He ignores the danger around them. He even manages to ignore his growing unease with Leia’s nonsensical statements.

_For Hire. No Experience._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have unresolved issues with physical fitness testing. Do not judge.
> 
> Vader’s sections will probably be longer now, because he needs to start pulling his weight while telling the story. Maybe he will become a major POV character after all.
> 
> To those who have been leaving comments and kudos, _thank you!_ Knowing that you’re genuinely enjoying this and excited to see what happens makes it all worth the effort. Even if you’re not leaving anything but hits, I’m glad you’re there.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!


	8. Old Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children learn valuable life lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the delay: I had a lot to do today anyway, and then there was an incident involving a glass vase and the shag carpet underneath a bed. Yeah. Thought I might not make it. Fortunately, that was not the case!

“Leia,” he says, watching her chug the canister of water, “do you remember what happened when we jumped onto that ship?” She puts the canister down and nods, shifting her weight on the old crate.

“You got put in jail.” Erlo sighs and leans back against the wall. Light is fading from the sky and the air has cooled by about ten degrees. The old duracrete pressed against his back is still warm. Sleeping out here is still going to be hell.

“Yes, but do you remember why?” Leia takes another sip of water and then looks up at him guiltily.

“I told ‘em you weren’t my uncle.” He thinks about his next words carefully. After an entire, fruitless day of job hunting, he’s feeling pretty burnt out. But considering what Leia almost told the shopkeeper who gave them the water, this conversation might be the only thing keeping him from getting burnt out by something worse than shady bartenders and half-blind secondhand store clerks.

“I know you don’t like lying,” and here, she frowns, “but sometimes you can’t tell people the truth. There are a lot of bad ones out there who might want to hurt us. And if they don’t know who we really are, they’ll leave us alone.” She sets the now-empty water canister on the ground and hugs her knees, staring at him over her crossed arms. They’re quiet for a few moments, the only sound that of the distant crowds.

“Lying is wrong,” she says, “my father said so!” As if that settles the matter. Okay. Great. He might be getting better at explaining things to four-year-olds, but philosophy is way out of his depth.

“When we were on the transport, you didn’t tell the Twi’lek I was lying.” Leia shrugs, her whole head moving with the motion.

“He might have hurt you. But the ship people wouldn't.” A tooka enters the alley, crawling up to sniff at their ration-pack wrappers. Erlo crosses his arms.

“How do you know that?” She sighs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, then leans over to look at the tooka. It paws at the foil and leaps back when it crinkles.

“I can tell.” Cautiously, she seizes the wrapper and rolls it into a ball. The crinkling is nearly enough to drive the creature away, but it hangs in the entrance of the alley. “People feel good or bad. Sometimes cold.” She pauses in her toy making and shivers. “ _They’re_ scary.” _Ashla touched_. That’s what Divani had said back in the brig. Is it possible that this is a Jedi power? He’s still not sure if he believes all of that, to be honest.

“Okay. So maybe you can tell if people are bad, but I can’t. Lying to people is wrong if you’re trying to... get credits or something, but sometimes you just have to.” The tinfoil ball lands on the ground, not far away from the tooka. It bats at the foil, letting out a soft growl and pursuing it down the alleyway. Leia grins for a moment, then frowns at him again.

“Lying to people is... mishonorable.” He gives her half a smile for that one.

“It’s not really lying, though, it’s... going undercover. Uh, warriors have to do it all of the time.” She raises a skeptical eyebrow. He puts up both hands. “No, that’s the honest truth. Sometimes warriors have to pretend to be different people so they can jump out at the right moment and save the day.”

“I don’t like it.” Erlo sighs again. There has got to be a new angle.

“We’re telling people a story.” He sees that this piques her interest, so he continues, “Yeah. It’s a story we make up for ourselves.” She’s sitting up now, only occasionally pausing to watch the tooka.

“Is it a warrior story?” He nods.

“Yup. It’s a story about a warrior named... Slate. He has to keep his little sister safe when they get stranded on a planet. I’m Slate, and you’re my little sister.” Leia tilts her head.

“Slate is a dumb name.” He opens his mouth, but she interrupts him with, “I think River is better. It’s not even lying at all!” Erlo can’t really argue with that logic.

“Alright, then, what should you be called?” The small girl rests her head on her knees again, looking thoughtful. The tooka at her feet continues to bat the ball around.

“I don’t know,” she says, “you pick mine. But it can’t be dumb.” He grins.

“Hm... how about Brooke? That’s another type of river.” She smiles.

“I like that one.” After a pause, she says, “He does, too.” Oh boy. Just when everything was going well, another non-sequitur.

“Who?” She buries her face in her legs again. 

“He’s my friend.” With a marked reluctance, she elaborates. “The bad man has him. And his sister. He can hear me talk. And also inside of my head.” Okay. Maybe Divani was right about all of this. That or Leia’s gone mad from trauma, but he’s got no metric for either.

“Do you know what his name is?” She nods.

“It’s a secret, though. The blue man said.” Erlo shuts his eyes. He really wasn’t trained for any of this shit. And he’s probably not going to get any more out of her.

“Right.” He takes a breath and runs a hand over his head. “So the next time someone asks you your name, are you going to say Brooke?” Leia bites her lip. There’s a loud crash from several streets away and the tooka scrambles off, streaking out of the alley with a remarkable swiftness.

“Fine.” Then she grins. “River.” He drinks the last of his own water and climbs to his feet. Leia is quick to follow.

“I think we can hit one more store before the end of the night.” She nods, grabbing his hand and sticking close to his side. As they near the exit, she drops it and runs back to their crates. Then she collects the trash and tosses it up over the rim of the dumpster. When one of the canisters bounces off, she tries again until it goes in. He leans against the mouth of the alley. She really is something.

“Ready?” And off they go, weaving through the crowd and searching for a business he hasn’t yet tried. The prospects aren’t good. Most shopkeepers seem eager to hire until they realize he’s got a kid with him. Others seem mostly okay with that until they realize she’s not Erlo’s kid, technically speaking. Some of them take one look at him and give a hard no, though he can’t imagine why. Training hasn’t exactly left him looking like a noodle who can’t lift anything.

And maybe that’s the problem. Most of the people seeking these jobs would be starving and desperate, their children wary and closed off. Leia might be a little quiet, but she’s still willing to go once you get her started. They’re both in pretty good shape, which strikes him as ironic. Maybe if the old couple hadn’t helped them, Erlo would be able to get a job right now.

Their final stop of the day is a junk shop, full of everything from ship parts and motor oil to moth eaten clothes and tattered dolls. Leia sticks close to his side like he’s asked her to, peering around the high shelves with interest. The shopkeeper is a gritty-looking man, his hair hanging in long, greasy dreadlocks. There’s a tattoo under his left eye, three blue triangles of varying sizes. He watches them as they approach, a sour expression on his face.

“What do you want?” Leia takes a step back from the counter, but she doesn’t look scared. Erlo takes a deep breath.

“I noticed you’ve got a ‘for hire’ sign out front.” The man cocks an eyebrow.

“That I do. What’s it to you?” Oh boy. It’s going to be one of these guys. The kind of merchant who would throw a fit at the freight entrance when they had to pause for scans and refuse to answer your questions straight. 

“I’m looking for a job. Will you take me on?” The man strokes his beard with a careful hand. A hand missing two fingers. Leia looks up at him curiously.

“What happened to your hand?” The look he gives her is strong enough to melt durasteel. Erlo squeezes her hand, feeling a little bit scared. Seriously, didn’t she have some sort of etiquette training? He can’t remember being so rude as a kid. 

“Le-Brooke!” He hisses, stumbling over her name. “You don’t just ask people that!” She dips her head, giving at least the impression of chastisement. Counter guy quirks an eyebrow. Erlo turns to him. He has a sinking feeling that there won’t be a job here, either. “I’m really sorry, sir, she’s not much for manners.” 

“Listen kid, I get three types of help in my shop.” He counts off on his maimed hand for emphasis. “The thumb type, who are looking for a job between ships; the middle type, who are poor fools trying to save up and get off this rock; and the ring type, who were born here and know how things go.” He points his thumb at Erlo accusatorially. “You’re not built for Tirahnn. No one is, really, but they’ll eat you and your girl alive. Get out while you can; find a job at a fruit stand or something. Plenty of merchants don’t mind kids. Whatever you do, stay out of the permanent-”

“Vangar, _mon copain_!” Erlo turns to see a young man, probably around his own age, walk into the shop. He’s flanked by another, shorter man and a Mon Calamari. They all fit in quite well with the surroundings. Which is to say they all look incredibly dangerous. He pulls Leia closer to him. “Should I wait until you finish with your customer?”

“That’s not necessary.” The junk shop owner (Vangar?) crosses his arms. “Get out of here, Kana. No one wants your trouble.” Kana apparently disagrees, because he takes a step forward. Erlo knows that posture; he’s got a vibroblade ready to attack with. And he doesn’t seem too keen on avoiding civilians.

“Hey,” he says, holding up his free hand, “I don’t want any trouble, either. Can you let me get the kid out of here before you start swinging knives?” Something flashes in Kana’s eyes, and he examines Erlo and Leia with the kind of look he’s seen cooking droids give steak. The posture drops and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his long coat.

“We weren’t planning any trouble,” he says, turning around. “Just a little chat. C’mon boys, let’s go.” As if it’s an afterthought he adds over his shoulder, “ _Ce n’est pas fini_.” And the three of them leave the shop just as quickly as they came. A loud, sudden slamming noise startles Erlo into turning around. The shopkeeper has slammed his hand onto the countertop.

“Those kids...” he looks up at Erlo. “Get out of here. You don’t need their brand of _merde_.” Erlo nods, steering Leia towards the door. “No. Come back here; they’ll be waiting outside the door.” This is the real dilemma. Trust the creepy old guy or the pack of goons? How is he supposed to know which one is more dangerous? Erlo looks down at Leia. _I can tell._

“What do you think?” She looks back with wide eyes. “Is it safe?” Her tiny face screws into a look of concentration. Then she points at the counter. So they pick their way back towards the shopkeeper, who looks a little suspicious but says nothing. He leads them through an archway covered by an old fishing net into a tiny room. It’s dark, and all he manages to see is a manky looking cot. Then they’re out a back door and into a small lane behind some businesses.

“Head west until you hit the stands.” And then the door slams shut and they’re alone in the alley.

“I guess you were right,” he says to Leia. She grins. With a sigh, he turns to examine the maze-like network of alleys that stretch off from this one. The sun is setting and they’re going to have to find a place to bed down for the night. A sinking feeling hits his stomach. What if leaving the crew made things worse?

Thinking like that isn’t going to get him anywhere. He has to keep moving forward. 

West. Fortunately, the sun is setting and providing a helpful marker. They pick their way past trash and people, sometimes having to wade through piles of garbage. The man was right about one thing; neither of them are built for this place. Everything seems fine, though. They make it to a long stretch of relatively clear alley without major incident.

And then Leia screams. Erlo looks around wildly, but there’s nothing there. And then, all of a sudden, a man with a hat pulled down over his face steps out in front of them. Another moves in from behind, a hulking behemoth with rags wrapped around his entire body. Both are holding vibroblades. 

He takes three deep breaths and then swallows his fear.

“Can I help you with something?” he calls. The men ignore him, stepping closer. There aren’t any tributaries to run down and all of the doors and windows are shuttered. Leia whimpers and buries her face in his leg. 

“Get down,” he whispers to her. She looks up at him. “Trust me. I’ll keep you safe, but you have to stay out of the way.” She hesitates, then crouches against the wall. Three more deep breaths. Then he draws the blade, surveying his opponents.

The one with the hat is closer, moving with short and even steps. The other man’s stance is weak, his knife held at such an angle that it will slip on the first stab. Even as they close in, he’s not afraid. 

This is what Erlo was trained for.

He lunges at the man with the hat, slamming his fist into his stomach. Training with a dagger is different from stabbing a guy with it. That’s not the Alderaani way. So he’ll try to scare them off. That will work. Because if it doesn’t... he’s sworn to protect Leia, not a pair of street criminals. The man grunts and slashes at Erlo, missing by a wide margin. Great.

He pivots to find rag man looming over Leia. His foot connects with the man’s sternum, which sends him falling backwards. That’s a relief, because the other criminal is ready to stab him in the back. He follows the kick through, pulling up his arms into a guard position and keeping his eyes on the blade. 

Suddenly, there’s a hard thunk as a knife sinks through his clothes and gets lodged in his blaster-proof vest. He’s lucky that it’s provided this much protection at all, actually, considering the nature of laser blasts as opposed to a physical object. Hat man darts forward, and Erlo bites the bullet and sinks his knife into the man’s shoulder. He pulls it out, which is a lot harder and more disgusting than he would’ve expected. The guy runs off, cursing. 

Rag man has withdrawn his vibroblade and attacks again, though Erlo can see it this time. Honestly, that doesn’t make much of a difference. _Knife fights end in one way; one guy goes to the hospital and the other guy goes to the morgue._ Fatherly proverbs aside, he needs to get out of this battle. And quickly.

Eyes, small and dark, flicker to his face, then Leia, and then the blade. Which, Erlo now realizes, is dripping with the hat man’s blood. The thought sends a wave of nausea over him. Rag man hesitates, looks around the alley, and then runs off the way he came. Erlo turns back around, half-expecting hat man to be standing there. He’s not. They’re alone.

There is warm blood on his hand. He stabbed a guy. Leia looks up at him from her crouched position, and he can tell that she’s been crying. 

“It’s okay,” he says, as if that will make it so, “It’s okay. We’re okay now. I’m fine. I’m okay. He didn’t hurt me.” Kicking through the detritus nearest them, he finds a mostly-dry mostly-clean rag and uses it to wipe off his hand and the blade. The knife slides back into its sheath. Leia doesn’t move from her spot on the wall. “Are you okay?” 

All of a sudden she runs at him and wraps her arms around his leg. He flinches, then puts a hand on her back. 

“Hey, hey, calm down.” Uncertainly, he crouches in the dust and puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll find us somewhere to sleep. They won’t get us, okay? I won’t let them. I’m too fast.” The sky is nearly dark overhead, and the alleyway is even more so. It feels like the criminals are waiting in the shadows to fight him again. “I guess the shopkeeper wasn’t as helpful as he thought he was.” 

“If you think Vangar was helping you, you really are greener than you look.” Erlo whips around, finding a new man behind them. It’s the guy from the shop, Kana. He pulls out his dagger again and stands up. Kana doesn’t react, just smiles. “I don’t think we were properly introduced. My name is Kana Urbitor. As I said before, there’s no need for violence.”

“There’ll be plenty of violence if you don’t stay back.” Posturing is step one of dealing with criminals. Kana doesn’t move. 

“Vangar’s aligned with a cartel. Most of the shops are, actually. He knew there’d be guys waiting for you in this alley.” Erlo frowns, but he does lower his dagger a bit. The weird shopkeeper had seemed sincere, and Leia had trusted him... then again, the last people she had trusted locked him in a brig.

“I practically told him I was broke. What would he get from sending me into an ambush?” Kana shrugs.

“The kid, probably. Girls don’t fare too well around here.” He looks Erlo up and down, as if considering something. “Pretty boys, either.” Did he just... Leia grabs his hand and peers out from around his legs. “Anyway, I get the feeling you’re looking for a job.” And now he knows how the scanner-hating merchants had felt.

“What of it?” Kana grins. It’s different from the smirk of earlier, it’s a genuine smile. His whole face changes. Erlo forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Stabby guys, treacherous shopkeepers, suspicious pot-stirrer.

“Well, I’ve got one for you.” Before Erlo can decline, he adds, “It would mean a place to sleep for you and the kid. Food, also. Pretty simple. You’d be doing things like guarding crates and patrolling the alleys. Me and my friends, we try to keep things safe. Stay ahead of the cartels.” Shit that he’s trained for. And stuff that he can get behind, morally.

“Why,” he asks, more for show than anything else, “should I trust you? I mean, that shopkeeper already proved that everyone’s got a motive. How do I know you’re not waiting for me to turn around so you can kill me?” The boy shrugs.

“You don’t and you can’t. I’d say run, but you almost wandered into Hutt territory a couple of times and they’re especially cruel to the pretty boys.” Erlo looks down at Leia. She squeezes his hand, hard. “Look, you don’t have to decide tonight. I know a couch you can crash on; we can figure out the rest in the morning.” A few moments pass in silence.

“I don’t really have much of a choice, do I?” He sighs. “Lead the way, Kana.” The grin deepens.

“Stick close.” And he takes off down the alley, Erlo not far behind. They’re soon side by side, Leia walking right on Erlo’s right. She’s starting to slow down, and he doesn’t really blame her. The poor kid has been on her feet all day. He picks her up, though he’s tired, too. The quicker they move, the quicker they can sleep. Or die. Or get enslaved. He’ll deal with it when it happens. “So,” Kana says after a while, “you got a name?”

“Everyone does.” He shifts Leia’s weight around. “I’m River. The kid’s Brooke.” The alleys are becoming narrower. It might be a good thing that he’s carrying her after all; there’s barely enough room for two of them.

“Is she yours? Because if so, that’s one hell of a naming scheme.” Erlo gives him a tired smile.

“My sister. Our parents were... interesting people.” Not a lie. Luckily, the human truth alarm seems to be mostly asleep. Kana nods.

“Well, River, I hope you’ll decide to stay on. We can use more of your kind around here.” Erlo raises an eyebrow.

“My... kind?” 

“I tailed you all the way from that shop. Almost jumped in when those creeps went after you.” He takes a sharp turn, and their shoulders brush together. “Let me tell you, I’ve seen lots of spats like that. But that one... you’ve got fire. And in my line of work, that’s deadly useful.” Leia squirms around in his arms, settling against his right shoulder.

“Bad guy,” she murmurs. And as he looks into Kana’s incredibly blue eyes, he’s not sure whether to trust her on that one or not.

* * *

Ryoo blocks high, then low, then high, then low, then- _slam_. Metal droid fist crushing into her still-tender abdomen. She doubles over, but not before stepping out of arm range. A few sessions have been enough to teach her that injury will not stop Riss.

“You think every enemy will be so predictable?” she crows from her chair in the corner. “Watch the fists, the way the arms move. If you allow yourself to become distracted, you are dead.” Titus, also known to Ryoo as ‘the murder robot’, pulls back into ready position. “Again.” 

The goal of this exercise (or so she’s been told), is to hit the deactivation switch on the back of the droid’s neck. Once flipped, Titus will cease his attacks and she’ll be done for the day. Unless Riss has lied about the switch’s location or effectiveness. She tends to do things like that. Sometimes, Ryoo isn’t sure whether these sessions are straining her mind or her body more. 

Titus goes low three times, then high. She blocks every punch. The droid hesitates for a moment, and she looks over to see Riss smiling at her. Then she has to duck a droid fist, and the moment is gone. Maybe these sessions are _supposed_ to be straining both. Either way, she moves her focus to the task at hand. Think, yet act. Riss’s favorite catchphrase.

They continue to fight for several minutes, until she’s doing more ducking away and blocking than attacking. Whose bright idea was it to put the switch in such a hard to reach place? Ryoo can barely hit the register pad in the center of the torso.

Session I proved that she’s quicker than the thing, for what it’s worth. Ryoo tries to slip around the back, only to have it follow her every move. The misstep costs her a blow to the shoulder. She drops low and back, trying to recover. Move with the impact. That’s what Riss has taught her. It’s funny to think that she ever _wanted_ to take a self-defense class.

Attacking the Inquisitor again is not going to work, as she discovered quite painfully during Session II. Titus is slower, but not enough for it to make a difference. She doesn’t have any tools to fight him with. Think, she tells herself. Riss never gives her a task without a reason. Alright, she may not be faster, but she is more agile. If only the gym wasn’t so open... an idea begins to form.

Ever so slowly, she makes her way to the wall. She has to be careful; if Riss gets suspicious, all bets are off. When the panels touch her back she begins to inch her way to the right, heading for the other wall. With her attention on the droid, she can’t see what Riss is up to. She hopes that she’s confused. If not, things are about to get painful.

Her shoulder hits the other wall, and Titus stops in front of her. They’ve made it to a corner. She presses herself into it, trying to get the droid as close as possible. He (and she’s not sure when she stopped thinking of Titus as an ‘it’) practically presses his shoulders into the walls, forming an inescapable triangle. She takes a deep breath, struggling with his fists. Now what?

There’s no room to duck under his arms, but there is a gap down below. Ryoo drops, trying to move between his legs quickly. In her mind, she twists up elegantly and presses the deactivation switch. In reality, Titus knees her in the ribs. She falls to the ground, gasping, and he gets a few more kicks in before she fight free. 

“An interesting strategy,” Riss calls, “but not the one I was trying to teach you. Come over here.” Wonderful. It’s time for another one of Riss’s confusing water breaks. Still, Ryoo collects herself and plods over. Hydration is hydration. Her ribs are on fire, but not broken. She grabs one of the water canisters and sits on the floor in front of Riss. The liquid tastes metallic, and the fact that she’s not sure if it’s poisoned or not says a lot about her mentor. The Inquisitor is currently looking her up and down. “Sometimes I forget how much of a child you still are.” 

“I’m not a child,” Ryoo says, knowing that makes her sound childish. “I’m thirteen. There have been younger _queens_ ” Riss shakes her head. The more time Ryoo spends with the Inquisitor, the more she sees glimpses of the person underneath. Genuine humor, a touch of guilt, a flash of sadness. There’s a little bit of that last one on the woman’s face now. It makes her wonder why.

“I’m well aware that children have not been children for some time now, child.” She sighs, the stoic mask sliding back over her features. “In any case, you are correct. You’re old enough for training. My lesson for today was about discreet conflict. If you had been in, say, a private office, that struggle would’ve attracted an incredible amount of attention in moments.” Ryoo can see where this is going, and she doesn’t like it.

“I don’t plan on ending up in anyone’s private office.” Riss laughs.

“I thought you were a grown woman of thirteen?” Ryoo doesn’t respond to that, instead drawing her knees up to her chest. “That’s a lesson for another day. Preferably one far in the future. One you’ll have to deal with on your own time. So. If you are struggling with someone and trying to avoid detection, what should you do?” 

“You’re going to tell me to throw myself at them, aren’t you?” Her stomach lurches at the thought. They do appear to be training her as some sort of spy, so maybe she should’ve expected this, but still... Eleventh Brother. Or some eighty-light-year-old sleemo. Or anyone, really. What if-

“That’s unnecessary for our current purposes, though kissing is a very useful tool of distraction. Like I said, many years in the future, if I have anything to say the curriculum. Which I might not. Currently, a simple hug will suffice.” Ryoo swallows her concerns at the above statements and grimaces.

“So I have to... _hug_ Titus?” Riss grins, beckoning the droid closer.

“He isn’t very welcoming, but yes. Embrace him.” Ryoo stands up, then hesitates. “It’s just a droid, girl. You can practice on me, if you’d prefer.” She hurries over to Titus. He drops into a guard position. Instead of mirroring him, she lunges forward and seizes him around the metal torso. He freezes, and she can hear the servos running faster in his head.

“Sorry,” she whispers. Then she slaps the switch at the base of his neck. He collapses onto the floor, nearly crushing her toes. Riss nods.

“Now, let’s run through that again.” 

~❁~

Her body hurts. It feels like that after most sessions with Riss, but today feels worse than yesterday. Each day has seemed worse than the last. And every morning she tries to tell herself that it won’t be as bad. 

_That’s people for you_ , her mother had once said. _If we stopped trying things just because they hurt the first time, we’d never get anything done_. Ryoo smiles a little at the rememberance. She’d been asking, in that self-assured little kid way, why her mother would ever have more babies if it hurt so much.

_We almost did stop after you, but by the time Pooja came along I was willing to try it one more time._

_What about Luke?_

_He was a surprise, but the pain was worth it then, too._

She had smiled as she lied. And Ryoo is shocked by the bitterness she feels for that memory. The anger she holds for her mother. At being left alone with Luke, trying to keep him safe from a man she can’t figure out. She tries to ignore it, push the feelings away and pretend they’re not there. But it’s not working.

“I’m sorry.” Ryoo jolts, but the voice is a man’s. Nothing like her mother’s. She turns, somewhat thankful for the distraction, to the only other person in the area. The trooper escorting her. There’s no indication that he’s spoken at all, but she feels like she’ll go insane if she stays quiet and inside her head.

“Why?” The white, faceless helmet turns towards her. 

“For not aiming higher.” She sighs.

“Me too.” There’s something like a snort, distorted by a vocabulator.

“I guess they haven’t beaten the lip out of you yet, huh?” She shrugs. They turn a corner. The trooper, who must be Radi, seems to slow down a little bit.

“Not for a lack of effort.” He actually laughs now, and she matches his pace. The whole thing feels a little surreal, actually. This is the first conversation she’d had since she woke up with someone who is not insane or tiny. The silence pushes back in, and she knows that if she doesn’t say anything it’s going to stay. “I haven’t talked to anyone in days other than Vader, my brother, and the medical droids. None of them will tell me anything. Do you know where we are? What happened after I got knocked out? Are my parents...” she trails off. Radi sighs.

“I can’t tell you anything. I’m supposed to march you home and make sure you don’t get lost.” Ryoo crosses her arms.

“I don’t know why I even bothered.” The helmet snaps around, and she can almost see the glare Radi’s probably sporting behind it.

“Listen, kid, I’m sorry you got the hot end of the blaster. That doesn’t mean I’m going to disobey orders and hand you intel.” She stares back, stoneyfaced. As stonyfaced as she can get, anyway. “I tried to tell you. It’s all about loyalty. I’m loyal, I don’t get decommissioned. You stay loyal and they’ll keep treating you well.” Now it’s her turn to laugh.

“Treat me well. You mean send me off to get trained by a bipolar madwoman? Bunk me with my terrifying uncle who probably killed my entire immediate family? Shoot me in the stomach? I’m confused as to how my situation could get any worse.” Radi stops dead, looking up and down the hallway before grabbing Ryoo’s arm and dragging her into a small dip in the wall. She thinks it might be a comm-cupboard.

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be alive?” She jerks away, but he doesn’t let go of her arm. “You know about the boy. If they didn’t have a use for you, you'd be dead. A brother of mine got himself killed that way. He knew too much. He became a better corpse than soldier, so he got shot down. If you make trouble, they’ll kill you. And then your brother will be all alone.” 

“Let go of me!” Radi’s got her arm, but also Eleventh Brother and Captain Curtain and even Vader, despite his assurances. He lifts his other arm and she yanks on her arm as hard she can, struggling free. She doesn’t go far. Just the other side of the room. She can feel his eyes on her.

“Fierfek, kid, calm down.” The trooper walks towards her slowly, both arms raised. “You’re fine. I’m just warning you.” Ryoo takes a couple of deep breaths. “I’ve seen lots of things in this icebox. Those kids, the prisons on the lower levels, the stuff they bring in at night. Hell, I saw Vader fix Riss up the first year we were in this place. That smell...” he sighs. “There are worse things. You just have to remember that.” She shakes her head.

“I just want to go home.” It comes out as a whisper. Though she’s not talking about the apartment, and she thinks they both know that, Radi nods. 

“We can leave now.” As he approaches the door, she blurts,

“You said you know what they’re doing? To the kids, I mean.” He turns. “Can you tell me? Please?” There’s a loud, modulated sigh.

“Trust me, you’re better off not knowing.”

* * *

Ashes.

They rain over the destroyed foundations, blanket the faces of the dead like snow. The scene of the base certainly fits his mood. It’s a cracked, ugly thing, twisted and full of rage.

His mask filters the worst of the airborne debris from his lungs, though he still must narrow his eyes. Perhaps he should modify the garment with a visor. The destruction seems routine, another bomb detonated by foolish insurgents fighting a battle they cannot hope to win. This base shall be replaced by twelve others, while they shall lose two cowards for each who has died in this attack.

That is the way of things.

Vader comes to a section of wall that still partially stands, though it has been gouged by shrapnel and blaster fire. A stormtrooper lies prone against it, his head parted from his body by the-

This cannot be. The Force thrums within him, causing hair to rise on the back of his neck. He turns to find another trooper, this one wearing the vestments of a scout. There is a deep cut in the plating near his chest, cauterized neatly shut. Not so much as a drop of blood. 

A score in the cracked duracrete, looking as though it was melted...

A hole in the blast doors, clearly cut with a saber...

Survivors who mention troopers being hit by their own shots...

And a man in the medical bay, missing his hand from mid-ulna down.

“I dunno how to describe it, sir,” the man rasps, looking both scared and highly intoxicated. “There were these dancin’ white lights, and they took my hand off. It burned. It was my gun hand, too. Now I can’t shoot.” White lightsabers?

“Did you see what the wielder looked like?” The man’s eye dart sideways. 

“Was a woman, I think. Not sure about much else. One hell of a hat. Head looked all off. ‘Course, I might’ve been dreaming. Everything kinda stops when you lose a bit, no?” Vader takes a deep breath and strides from the room, surrounding himself in the Force. A Jedi.

He has a very bad feeling about all of this. About which Jedi it could be. But it cannot be. That girl, that woman- she died. He saw it, had discovered her grave. There are many traitors still out there. It must, as the report had posited, be a coincidence.

But the Force whispers that it is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. Maybe we’re not having long Vader after all. Um... Vader’s chapter lengths may vary?
> 
> ACTUAL IMPORTANT NOTE ABOUTE THE FIC: Couple of clubs at my school are going to be springing into action. Updates may or may not slow down as a result. 
> 
> Item two, I’m going offline for a few days and may not reply to comments. I am not ignoring you; I just haven’t made it home yet!
> 
> Okay, it’s safe to ignore me now.
> 
> Why is Kana speaking French? Because the author needed a language Erlo couldn’t understand and I can easily throw French in without birthing yet another bastard Mandalorian. It’s not a necessary or integral part of the story; none of you missed anything. 
> 
> Internal page break upgrades! Erlo also gets a snazzy transition. 
> 
> That’s about it. Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful weekend.


	9. Sneaking and Screaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subterfuge litters the stage.

The apartment is empty when she enters. Ryoo leans back against the wall and tries to sort through her messy emotions. It’s a difficult task. She’s sad, angry, hurt, sweaty and tired. Not scared, though.

No, she’s scared. It’s like bile in the back of her throat. Except this bile has been these for so long that she’s started to ignore it. Maybe that means she isn’t scared, or at least not by the old standards. Radi’s talk certainly didn’t help anything. She does her best to breathe, and then decides to move on.

Her second order of business is searching for the note Luke will have left her. He can’t really write, just scrawl crude letters. Usually it’s a few of those and some stick figure drawings. Sometimes there are chunks of print or slivers of pictures from whatever was on there in the background. Where he’s getting filmsiplast and pens from is a mystery. 

Today’s is placed carefully under his N-1, right in front of her dresser. She picks up the toy. Despite the new routine of train-note-shower, it’s still weird to find it without its owner. The message is a sloppy trill sandwiched between a sharp leth and a bendy looking resh. Maybe. Below that is a small drawing.

One being with a frowning face is staring at a taller one with angry eyebrows. The taller one has a wide open mouth and the smaller one might be crying. Ryoo frowns. She adds the note to the stack on her desk, then pulls out a new set of clothes. As she heads into the hallway, thinking about what it could mean, a blinking light catches her eye.

The door closest to the living area, one that’s always been locked shut, is cracked open. A blinking red light is half-visible through the gap. _If you make trouble, they’ll kill you. And then your brother will be all alone._ That’s true. But this could be her only chance to find out what’s been going on around here.

Ryoo sets her clothes on the floor. Vader’s been gone for a few days, if Luke’s to be believed. He’s not exactly the type to have a security camera in his own private room. She’ll take a look and come right back out. No one will ever know. And if they do, she’ll deal with it when it happens.

There’s a pen on the floor that’s been holding the door open. She shoves her fingers between the stile and the jamb and pries it the rest of the way open. And then, as though the floor is made of wet tissues, she steps into the room.

It’s nothing insane. There are no lights, and a single window that’s just as shuttered as all of the others. Straight ahead is just one object. It’s a weird, circular piece of furniture about two feet tall. Some sort of table? The window is set into a dip in the wall. To the left is a ton of monitors and electronic equipment attached to walls around a large table. And there, on the table, is the blinking red light.

Ryoo heads for the table, examining the surface. Most of it is fairly normal, a few data pads and filmsi notebooks arranged on the surface. In the center is a comm array, the kind Pooja used to study in her tech classes. It’s rather simple- _after all_ , her sister had said, _politicians have to use them_. There’s a small holoprojector and a keypad, along with a few knobs to adjust the image. The blinking red light indicates a missed message.

Her hand is halfway to the button when she stops. If she presses the button, will Vader know? What if he notices the message’s absence? What if someone tries to comm him back while she’s there? Does she even want to know what it says?

Yes. She wants to search this entire office, find out where they are and how to leave, grab Luke, and run. It’s not going to be that simple. Slicing wasn’t covered in any of her political/debate oriented education. So she taps the button designed for dumb politicians and sucks in a breath.

“ _Lord Vader,_ ” says a woman’s voice, “ _we believe we have managed to decode the rest of the message with the reports from Naboo. It seems to have been sent by Sola Naberrie, though we’re unable to discern to whom. She was attempting to seek aid for Luke Skywalker. A copy of the report is enclosed, along with the markups._ ” Ryoo’s breath catches in her throat. Her mother. Attempting to seek aid. Is she alive? Trying to help them? The holoprojector spits out several lines of text, along with darker text in the margins.

‘ _Sent to: Tílda in comms_.’ The margins read ‘ **1 wk pst DP. Ntwk chgd.** ’ She’s still trying to decipher it when the next lines pop up.

‘ _We’ve had quite a few unexpected guests recently. _( **Agnts** ) _One even brought his brother!_ ( **Code-211, als 11B** ) _Of course they all wanted to see the new baby._ ( **SyWkr** ) ~~_You’d think there aren’t any children in the galaxy_~~.’

So a completely normal email about nothing becomes subterfuge? Subterfuge by her mother? The middle note os indecipherable. ‘Code-211’? ‘als 11B’? The last one might mean Skywalker, and the first one might be agents. She needs to write this down and find answers later. The pen in the door! The codes are safely down in ink on her palm by the time the text flips again.

‘ _Anyways, sis, I could really use some help this weekend. ( **Pln** ) We did get your news about the plants. ( **Organas** ) ~~The things people do out of spite!~~ That’s one guest we wouldn’t mind avoiding (Among many). ( **Lord Vader** ) ~~Family tolerance can only go so far~~.’_

Organa. That name rings a bell. So much is scratched out or underlined that it’s hard to read.

‘ _If you’re not busy, come to that old tapper ( **Code-211** ) and-_’

**_SLAM!_**

Ryoo whirls around, half expecting to see Vader standing behind her. But it wasn’t from inside the room, or even the apartment. Maybe out in the hall. In any case, she’s run out of time. Pooja would know how to reset the message, but all she can do is close it out and hope for the best.

**_SLAM!_**

It’s getting closer. She grabs the pen and races from the office, doing her best to shut a door that has no panel. It looks mostly closed. What about the writing utensil? The ink on her hand?

**_SLAM!_**

Shiraya hide the ink _._ She picks up her clothes and runs into her room. It’s better to pray in sevens. Shiraya keep me safe, Shiraya stay their hands, Shiraya change the direction of those thuds. That’s only four, and one dumb one. Shiraya save my brother, Shiraya fix the door, Shiraya-

The door in the main room slides open. Ryoo takes a deep breath, puts the pen under the clothes on the foot of her bed, and steps out into the hallway with Luke’s N-1. 

Vader stands in the doorway, his mask down and his hood up. She grips the small starfighter tightly. Luke is right in front of him, scrambling backwards. Was it her brother making the slamming noises? Her chest tightens.

“ _Never_ speak of that again!” Vader’s voice is louder than an engine boom. Her brother is halfway to the hall when he trips, skidding a few inches and curling inward on the floor. Vader steps towards him, hand raised. “Your mother sealed her own fate!” 

Ryoo can’t just stand here. Her feet feel frozen to the floor, but she has to move. And she does. She reaches Luke, puts a hand on his shoulder, and looks up to see Vader only feet away. 

No one moves. Not for an instant. They balance on the knife blade.

Vader thrusts out a single hand.

Something like an incredibly strong gust of wind hits her in the chest and throws her backwards, slams her into the refresher door. There’s no scream, no whimper. Just an ‘oh’ of all the air leaving and a quiet prayer against death. No tears, really, and no pain. Vaguely, she realizes that she now knows the origins of the slams. It wasn’t Luke, she hopes.

And then pain, air, and sound come rushing back. Luke is crying, Vader is speaking, and her shoulder _hurts_. All of the bruises from Riss’s session seem to shout and new wounds scream. Her arm moves, thankfully. She moves. Sits up, even. And Luke is crying. The N-1 sits abandoned in the middle of the hall.

No one is coming to save them. Ryoo sucks in a breath and climbs to her feet. She hurts, but nothing seems broken. Vader has stopped talking. He’s staring at her, and she stares right back. There’s a snake coiled in her belly. It was sleeping before and now it’s squeezing her lungs and guts and legs with icy-cold. But she can’t give into it. Luke is crying and he needs her.

One footstep. There’s not time to cry.

“Don’t hurt him.” It’s all she can say. “Please.” The yellow eyes blink. There are many Vaders. And this is the worst one. He holds out his hand again, but this time she feels fingers wrapped around her throat. They tighten, restricting her already limited airflow.

“Would you rather I hurt you?” And then her head. Oh Shiraya, _her head_. She’s felt him in there before, she thinks, but never like this. Spikey tendrils dig into the inside of her mind, ripping and tearing. Her eyes fly shut and she can’t breathe, she can’t move, and Luke is crying. “You are a coward, girl. You are not strong enough. You are pathetic.”

His voice is so loud. Her face is damp. Tears. Something touches her face, brushes against her cheek. Her shoulder. Her hair. No. No. He promised. He promised not to. And now she screams, weakly and shrilly, pushing away from arms she can’t see and trying to escape. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” It’s Luke’s tiny voice, breaking through the clouds around her head. Nothing is on her. Nothing. She bites her lip and ignores the slippery hands. Nothing is there. Stop screaming, you’ll scare Luke. “Don’t hurt her, please! Please! I’ll be good! I promise!” 

Ryoo wants to run to him but she still can’t move. He doesn’t deserve this. He deserves someone so much stronger than she is to call a sister. To protect him. Vader is right. She’s a coward. The hand slams her into the wall again, still by the throat, and then drops her to the floor.

“D-Dad, please!” Everything stops. Ryoo doesn’t dare to move. 

“What did you just say?” Vader sounds shocked. Luke hiccups.

“I said please. Dad.” Oh Shiraya, that beautiful smart boy. He knows. How to draw out a better Vader. Footsteps. Closer, past Luke. Towards her.

A door slides open and then shut as Vader enters his office. And Ryoo can breathe. All of the hands are gone, but her throat feels sore and her skin feels gross. She sits up to find Luke staring at her anxiously. 

“Are you okay?” She forces a nod.

“I’m fine.” He shakes his head.

“I can feel it. Your head got squished.” Ryoo blinks.

“My... head got squished?” He nods solemnly. The N-1 has found its way back into his hands. She struggles to her feet. They have to get out of the hallway.

“Sith do that. He’s gonna teach me.” He looks down at the N-1. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone.” Ryoo takes his hand and pulls him towards his room. He follows. Neither of them bother to put up the chair barricade. 

Sitting in semi-darkness, she can’t think of anything to comfort him. All she has is herself, and Vader proved that that’s not much to work with. She holds Luke, though, and he holds his fighter. And she looks at the scribbled words on her hand and hopes that they were worth it. That Vader didn’t notice. That her limited supply of datapads hold the answers.

Hope is just about all that they have left. But hope is going to have to be enough. Ryoo is going to have to be enough. Because tonight has made one thing abundantly clear.

They can’t stick around and hope to survive.

* * *

“ _There are rumors swirling, Lord Vader._ ” Sidious speaks to him, though Vader is still very much inside of himself. Inside of his anger. How dare his son say those things to him? How dare the girl question his discipline? If the currents of the Force are any indication, the pair have learned their lesson. That does not lessen his rage. “ _Rumors that could be damaging, particularly to the throne._ ”

“Have your press deal with it, then,” he snaps, allowing his anger to burst through. A foolish mistake. “I am not a spy. Rumors are outside my area of expertise.” A grin creeps across his master’s wormy lips. It’s visible through the hologram.

“ _I can sense your anger. It burns brightly in the Force. What troubles you?_ ” Vader clenches his fists. He does not wish the play the apprentice game with Sidious any longer. But the charade must continue, at least for a little while longer.

“There was an incident with my assassins today. Nothing of note. I have it well in hand.” But of course, Sidious will not take the hint. 

“ _I have experience in these matters. Perhaps I shall make my visit sooner rather than later._ ” A datapad rattles on the desk. He focuses on his breathing. It will not do to snap in front of Sidious.

“That is unnecessary, master.” The honorific is bitter on his tongue. It will keep the old man placated, however. “The lesson was learned.” The argument is not over. Vader knows that well by the way Sidious frowns.

“ _I did not comm you to discuss such matters,_ ” he says, “ _I wished to warn you. Your actions on Naboo have not gone unnoticed. The Naberries are a prominent family. Storming in and taking their children has angered people. Many with friends in high places._ ” Vader grits his teeth.

“Did you expect them to hand the boy over willingly?” He has to restrain himself from mentioning the communications his team is decoding. What Sidious doesn’t know will be his downfall. “Their deaths will stand as a message. No matter how safe they thought they were, they had crossed the Empire and so paid the price.” 

“ _You do not think, apprentice_.” The word grates on his already raw patience. “ _We would not be having this discussion if you had simply taken the boy and left the family alive. One of the daughters could have been nudged into the world of politics. We could have kept her close. A message to the family that any wrong move could cause pain. Instead you have drawn us into this mess._ ” 

“And what of the Organas?” He’s allowing his anger to get the better of him now, and he knows he shouldn’t. But the rage has its hold on him and it does not wish to let go. “I have heard no complaints of their disappearance. Their reputation as rebel sympathizers was well-known. Can we not link the Naberries to that foolish band of terrorists? Perhaps we put it about that the children are being tutored in the capital, away from their revolutionary grandparents.” Sidious scowls.

“ _You speak too freely, Lord Vader. We will discuss this further during my visit_.” The glowing eyes are ominous. “ _You are dismissed._ ” The picture crackles out, and Vader slams his fist into the keypad. How dare _he!_ That lecherous snake. No, it is Sidious who speaks too freely! 

Perhaps, during the visit, he will be made to regret it.

Vader turns away from the table, pondering a visit to the Inqusitorial barracks for a spar. 

“ _Lord Vader,_ ” says a voice behind him, “ _we believe we have managed to decode the rest of the message with the reports from Naboo. It seems-_ ” He halts the message, confused. There were no notifications when he returned, but the timestamp clearly states that the message was sent before his talk with Sidious. Vader watches the message, then sets a reminder to himself. He cannot focus. One thought is distracting him.

Someone has been intercepting his messages. It was not an internal tap, someone viewed it physically. The door was unlocked when he entered. Few people have access to his quarters, and few would dare. He can think of one suspect.

Perhaps the Naberrie girl is not as demure as she seems.

* * *

Erlo’s never had the chance to watch many sunrises. Considering how many Alderaani poems he had to read about the damn things, that might be surprising. They never seemed important to him. Neither did the poetry, really. _A guard should be cultured_ , his father had said, _but the arts are for the scholars_. So he ignored things like sunrises in favor of things his father actually cared about. 

Now that he’s following his own path, Erlo figures he should probably start catching up on that stuff.

This sunrise is mostly an accident. He and Leia have been slotted into the rafters of an old warehouse. There’s a handful of other kids up there; a girl with tattoos who might be a Kiffar, a ten-year-old boy who never speaks, and a bloody boy covered in bandages. They all sleep on pallets or cushions or tangles of blankets down the length of a long room. Everyone keeps to themselves.

A couple of dormers poke out of the roof. He’s standing in one now. And maybe he could’ve been an even better guard if he had seen a couple of these, because the streets of Tirahnn are coming alive. People carry a little bit of everything, boxes and crates and buckets and bags and children and junk. Everything. Above them all, the sky is rapidly shifting to a bruise-like color. A tiny sliver of the planet’s sun is poking over the horizon.

It’s alive, out there. He wonders how the crew of the _Lightwhip_ are. If they were relived or upset when he ran. If they were honest or not. And the old couple-did the Inquisitor find out that they helped him? Are they still alive? Missing the strange disc? And then, finally, his thoughts drift towards home. Is his father alive? Wondering about him? What of the Queen and the Viceroy?

If they were here, he would tell them that their daughter is safe. He’d tell his father that he’s leaving the guard. The old couple that their son’s clothing will continue to help lost kids. The crew that he forgives them for locking him up. And then the bloody boy coughs and rolls over with a whimper, and the spell of the sunrise is broken. The Kiffar girl sits up and begins braiding her hair over her shoulder.

“Is he... okay?” The girl shrugs.

“Hell if I know. He’s what happens when you don’t listen to orders.” She can’t be that much older than him, really, and the bloody guy might be younger. “The short one’ll keep an eye on your kid while we’re working. Everyone calls him Jogan.” Erlo glances at the ten-year-old, who’s starting to get ready himself.

“What’s his actual name?” The poor guy can’t enjoy being called that. The Kiffar just shrugs again, though.

“No one’s sure. He never says a word.” Erlo eyes the boy skeptically. “If you’re not down in ten, they’ll send someone after you. Wouldn’t recommend the experience.” Then again, a kid named after a fruit can’t be any more dangerous than a gang of spacers. And, despite himself, he wants to trust these people. That includes their babysitters. He heads over to the pallet that Leia’s sleeping on. Her eyes open at a touch to the shoulder.

“I’m going to be working today,” he says, “and that boy will be looking after you. Do you remember what I told you about the story?” She frowns, and then nods. “Okay. I have to go now. If anyone tries to hurt you, hide and wait for me to come back.” He turns to find Jogan standing right behind him. He points to Leia.

“The other girl said you’d watch her.” The boy nods, and points again. Erlo looks between the two of them. What is the kid trying to say?

“I’m Brooke,” Leia says, climbing off the pallet. Jogan gives her a look down and frowns. Before he can figure out why, the Kiffar calls,

“You ready to go now, rookie? Or are they gonna have to send someone up for you?” Erlo sets his shoulders back and buckles on his belt.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” She leads him down a flight of stairs, through a hallway of curtained-off rooms, down a ladder, and then more stairs. They end up in a small room. The walls are a crumply green plaster and the table in the middle is scorched by carbon scoring. A few other people, mostly teens and younger adults, hover around the room. The Kiffar sticks near the door, and he waits by her. There’s a growing sensation of hunger in his stomach, but no food to eat. At least he used the fresher before they left.

Along one of the walls is a sketch-board that’s been wiped clean of all writing. Crates and stools and chairs are placed haphazardly around the table, none of them looking particularly stable. The floor is a ratty, stained carpet that might have once been beige. Despite the sorry state of everything, he’s surprised by how many people are there. Kana had spoken of his friends, but the entire operation is far too organized for just a group of buddies.

The room quiets down a bit when a door on the other end opens, spitting out a very familiar trio. Kana, the short-ish guy, and the Mon Calamari. The people from Vangar’s store. 

“ _Salut_ ,” Kana calls, taking a seat at the head of the table. His two companions take a seat to either side. Once they’re down, everyone else finds a spot along the table. He’s on the end next to the Kiffar. Though there are less than twenty other people in the room, it feels crowded. “Reports?”

A bony Ithorian stands up and begins chattering rapidly in more of the strange language. Most of the people seated around the table seem to be listening intently. Erlo turns to the Kiffar.

“Can you-” he whispers, before she cuts him off.

“Only bits of it. The more involved you get, the more you’ll learn. Seems to be something like bastardized Ryl.” It doesn’t sound like Ryl to him. Actually, it sounds somewhat familiar now that he’s been listening to it for a long period. But he keeps his mouth shut while seemingly random people stand up and talk. After a while, everyone shuts up and Kana gets back to his feet.

“Jarhis, you’ll be heading to the stalls today. Give the Geranders our best regards. Luph, you’re in charge of local operations. Seinna, you’ll be taking a crew over to the docks and hauling some supplies.” He looks down the length of the table, and Erlo swears he catches his eyes for a moment. “Remember, we’ve got a handful of uninitiates. _Ne parlez pas grossièrement._ Hate to lose them before they get the chance to prove themselves. If there are no further questions?” No one has any further questions.

>⇟<

He finds himself walking the streets of Tirahnn with the Kiffar, a purple-haired woman, and a reconfigured pair of astromechs that have been charged with hauling the crates. They aren’t told what’s inside. The purple-haired woman (Sienna, apparently) marches in front, while he and the Kiffar trail behind. There’s a symbol stamped on each of the crates and tattooed on Sienna’s arm in white ink. It looks like a rose viewed from the top down, like someone caked paint on the petals and pressed the top of the flower onto things. 

“How long have you been here?” The Kiffar gives him a side glance. A V-shaped marks on her cheeks remind him of whiskers. They’re black, the markings, and he’s not entirely sure what they mean. He wouldn’t know they were Kiffar, either, if one of the palace chefs hadn’t had tattoos like them. Unprofessional, his father had called them. Erlo thought that was stupid. The guy had worn them since the day he was born, or so he told Erlo. What did his father want the chef to do about it?

“You ask a lot of questions.” It’s loud in the market, and even though they’re raising their voices over the crowd, he gets the feeling that no one can hear. She sighs dramatically. “Long enough. I need the cred. Anything else you want to snoop about?” That remark just might have stung a few weeks ago.

“I wouldn’t mind knowing your name. I’m River.” She snorts.

“ _River_. You’ve gotta be from some sort of petal planet where they worship the trees.” The cart bumps over a rock in front of them. “Korra. Korra Tepp, if I’ve got to be any more specific than that. Now let me ask _you_ a question, River. What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Guarding crates, same as you.” Korra sighs.

“Very funny. I meant with Kana’s gang. You don’t strike me as the type.” One of the astromechs whistles mournfully; it must’ve been injured by the rock. 

“The type for what?” He looks at her, confused. It’s not like the situation is completely normal, but there are worse people to work for. “They’re just trying to stand up to the cartels. I can get behind that.” Korra laughs.

“Poor thing,” she says, putting on an exaggerated simper, “you don’t have any idea what’s going on, do you?” Her personality is starting to grate on him. The astromech beeps again, and Sienna slaps it on the dome.

“Why don’t you explain it, then, instead of insulting me?” She holds up her hands and rolls her eyes.

“Easy there, petal boy. It’s not my place. Getting a versha through the gut would put quite the damper on my plans.” The other astromech bumps its buddy, as if in solidarity. “All I gotta say is that you don’t get behind the gang, they get behind you. And once they’re there, it’s hard to leave.” Erlo has suddenly become a lot less comfortable with Kana’s ‘friends’. And he left Leia with them.

But he can’t just run back to the warehouse and leave. First of all, he has no idea how to get there. Second of all, Korra’s making it sound like they won’t let him him grab Leia and go. With a sinking feeling, he realizes he might have to sneak away a second time. Maybe Korra’s just messing with him? Exaggerating? He’ll have to keep up his guard.

“A... versha?” he asks, more to stop the interaction than anything else. She looks at him like he’s grown an extra head.

“Versha. A knife?” He shrugs.

“I’ve never heard anyone call one that before. Does it mean something?” Korra huffs.

“You really are a petalhead. A _vibroblade_ , dumbass. ‘Versha’ comes from shiver-shank. You hear that one?” He shakes his head. “Wow. Well, my cousin taught me that one. Maybe it’s a regional thing. It makes sense, though. Shi _ver_ - _sha_ nk.”

“Shiver-shank has got to be the dumbest name for a weapon that I’ve ever heard.” And the debate that sparks starts them on a conversation that lasts for five more trips. By that time, they’re back at the warehouse for the day. Korra shows him to a makeshift kitchen, where they unearth some cold pasta and purple sauce. He wants to go looking for Leia, but she assures him that Jogan will take care of her.

“That kid’s got some sort of stick up his ass about other kids. Doesn’t even like it when we yell at them.” She twirls more of the long noodles onto her fork and sighs when she sees his expression. “I know. He doesn’t look like much, but he’s really something. Go ask Luph how he got his scar. Jogan was keeping an eye on a little Twi that splashed some water a little too close for Luph’s comfort. He threw a spoon at the Twi, and man... I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.” 

“What happened to them? The Twi’lek?” Korra shrugs.

“Say what you will about Kana, but he’s got a soft spot for the short ones. The Twi got a new home, last I heard. Jogs is the youngest kid who lives here full time.” Erlo stares into his plate of noodles. “Hey, don’t let what I said scare you off. Tirahnn’s dangerous. No one is nice. Everyone’s got blood on their hands. But you could do worse. Especially since you’ve got the boss staring at your ass.” He turns to look at her.

“ _What?_ ” She laughs.

“Poor petalhead. I saw him watching you while we left the green room. You’ve got a bit of an issue if that one’s into you.” Erlo runs a hand over his head. 

“Why were you even looking?” Korra swallows her last mouthful of noodles.

“Never turn your back on Kana Urbitor. Rule number one of living in this dump.” She smiles at him, now, and it’s an actual smile. The realest one he’s seen all day. “You seem like a nice guy, River. So I’m going to give you my genuine advice. Either stick around and play it very nice with Kana, or take your girl and run before you get too invested. Once the claws are in there, they don’t come out.” Erlo shuts his eyes and grips his fork tightly.

Guarding boxes was simple. Talking with Korra is surprisingly easy. But he’s not trained for this. At least everything else he hasn’t been ready for was learnable. 

There’s not time to parse out something like a crush with the Empire hanging over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s watch the author screw herself over again with alliterative character names. You’ve met Riss, Ryoo, and Rodi. Now we’ve got Kana and Korra.
> 
> ‘Slicing’ is Star Wars slang for ‘hacking’. Yeah, accessing an unlocked terminal isn’t hacking, but Ryoo is a thirteen year old girl who doesn’t give a shit about computers so she’s going with that one.
> 
> The best autocorrect for this chapter was ‘Sidious’ to ‘Sit-ins’. Thought you ought to know.
> 
> Have a good weekend, hope you enjoyed!


	10. Legends and Lawmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epiphany!

There’s a closed off area around the back of the warehouse. It’s mostly empty except for Tirahnn’s signature street trash and a few moldy tarps covering stacks of who knows what. Korra sits atop a pallet, pulling chunks of meat out of a foilpack. Erlo’s meal sits to his right on the steps, discarded. Jogan’s dinner is already a crumpled tinfoil ball placed carefully by Leia’s. Only his head and shoulders are visible as he walks among the stacks, peering underneath tarps and inside of dark crevices.

Erlo sits back and watches, his arm and shoulders sore. They’ve been moving crates all around the stockrooms today. A tarp flaps and a little girl squeals. There’s fierce expression on Jogan’s face as he chases Leia out from behind one of the mounds. She races over to Erlo and hides behind him.

“Don't let him get me!” Jogan bares his teeth at Erlo, although there’s a slight hint of wariness in his eyes. Erlo grins, feeling a rush of excitement. He whirls around and lifts the squirming princess into the air. This seems to have worked, because she shrieks. It’s a good shriek, though, as he’s learned over the past few days.

“Who’s gonna stop _me_ from getting you?” A ball of foil hits him on the head. 

“The guild, petalhead. Stealing bounties is serious trouble.” Erlo turns sharply, Leia spinning with him. She lets out another happy shriek. Experimentally, he spins in a complete circle. Jogan leaps out of the way, and Leia laughs louder than ever. He’s grinning like an idiot when he stops, and the princess is laughing uncontrollably. He looks up at Korra, who rolls her eyes. 

“You’d think you’d never met a kid before. Spinning is the oldest trick in the book.” Her snark is not enough to dampen his mood. He sets Leia down, and she runs off almost immediately when Jogan stalks up from behind. Yeah, his arms are tired. Yeah, he’s working for some sort of gang that’s probably selling spice. Yeah, most of the people he cared about are gone. But he can finally relax. Just for a minute. 

“I didn’t hang around with her much until recently. I’ve never been much of a kid person.” Korra raises an eyebrow.

“She’s your sister. You’re telling me you never saw even one person pick her up and spin her?” Erlo shrugs and turns away. The kids are at the very end of the space, behind some of the oldest stacks. This is the hardest part of staying undercover, answering unanswerable questions.

“We didn’t... spend much time together. Before my father died.” Korra doesn’t respond to that for a minute, and he’s relieved. It gives him time to think.

“You never answered my question. How’d you end up out here in Tirahnn’s armpit? I have a feeling you’re a runaway, but then you go and make it sound like-” He turns back and glares at her.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he snaps, more out of fear than malice, “because that’s none of your business. I don’t know how you got here, but you don’t see me pointing fingers all over the place.” She holds up both hands.

“Hey, I’m just asking. Don’t bite my head off.” He opens his mouth to reply when Jogan suddenly runs out from behind the junk and up to Erlo. 

“Is everything okay?” He doesn’t like the look on the kid’s face. Jogan shakes his head and points behind the pallets. Erlo glances at Korra, who shrugs. “Okay. I’ll follow you?” Jogan takes off into the maze of junk, and Erlo runs after him. They take many twisting turns, past broken crates and rusted out machines and even a hissing nest of strange, furry creatures. Finally, they find Leia squeezed in an area between three giant crates. She looks up at Erlo guiltily when he pushes his way in.

“I’m sorry,” she says, far too quickly for his liking.

“What happened?” She sticks out her lip and looks at the ground. Jogan puts a hand on her shoulder. “Jogan made it seem like you got hurt.” 

“The boy showed me how,” she says. Erlo looks to Jogan who looks back at him, bewildered. He wishes more than ever that the poor kid could talk. Clearly she’s not speaking about him.

“What do you mean?” Leia just shakes her head. Jogan points at a rock on the ground and then lifts his arm up. He repeats this motion, as if it’s supposed to make instant sense.

“I didn’t mean to,” Leia says. Erlo sighs and kneels beside her in the dirt.

“Listen. I’m not mad. Can you show me what you did?” She bites her lip and glances at Jogan. Then she nods. He backs up a few paces, and Jogan does, too. 

Nothing seems different for a moment, and then Leia’s eyes close. She holds out a tiny arm, as if reaching for something, and slowly raises it. On the ground, the small rock Jogan was pointing at begins to wobble.

This can’t be happening. Seriously, he has to be asleep. Maybe they’re playing a trick on him? The rock slowly lifts into the air, hovering a few inches above the ground before dropping abruptly. Leia lets out a breath and shivers. 

“I don’t want to,” she says, “it’s cold.” Erlo’s not entirely sure who she’s talking to, but he’s pretty sure he knows what he just saw. He’s been able to ignore everything on its own, but now, looking at the big picture.

Vader ordered Leia hunted down specifically. It had nothing to do with the rebellion. Leia has dreams about another boy who’s also been hunted (and apparently captured) by the Empire. They can talk together with their minds. Divani claimed that the kid was ‘Ashla-touched’, with the powers of a Jedi. Leia can tell when people are going to be helpful and when they’re going to be hurtful. And now she’s lifted a rock with nothing more than her mind.

The Jedi were a pack of baby-snatching traitors, according to the Empire. They were dangerous, they were dogmatic, and they wanted power. They were emotionless beings, far from the celebrated war heroes Erlo liked to follow as a twelve-year-old. His father had taught him that the Jedi were brave warriors. They were struck down through a great and tragic misunderstanding. Erlo had adopted a mixture of the views over the years.

And now he’s faced with a Jedi baby. Leia. Who he’s sworn to protect. But if the Jedi were traitors, then maybe he shouldn’t be protecting her at all. He looks at her, and he feels the acute weight of the Blade on his belt. And then she looks up and she looks scared. Very scared.

Leia isn’t a Jedi. He isn’t part of the Empire. And so he steps forward, hesitantly, and pulls her into a small hug. And she hugs back.

“That’s okay. You won’t have to do it again.” He lets her go, uncertain, and sees that she’s calmed down a bit. That’s good. “Listen. You can’t do that in front of anyone. I’m fine, and it’s probably fine to do that in front of Jogan, but if someone else sees you there could be trouble. Big trouble. Do you understand?” Slowly, she nods.

Footsteps crunch through the detritus of the surrounding area. Korra, probably, making sure no one died. Jogan taps Erlo on the shoulder and points through one of the gaps. 

“Yeah, I know she’s out there. It’s not a big deal.” The boy shakes his head.

“ _Salut?_ ” Oh gods. He knows that voice. And it belongs to one person he definitely doesn’t want to think about right now. There’s been enough soul searching going on for one day, thank you very much. It’s tempting to squeeze through one of the other exits and hide. He can’t push the trouble onto the kids, though.

“Hello?” he calls back. The footsteps draw closer, and Erlo goes back the way he came. Sure enough, Kana’s standing there with his stupid long coat and smile. He feels a little sick when their eyes meet. No, not sick... there’s not a good word for it. “What are you doing all the way back here?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” The tone is light, but the words are accusatory. 

“Brooke got herself stuck behind some crates.” He’s trying to avoid the other boy’s eyes. Isn’t it easier to lie that way? “I told her not to come all the way back, but...” he shrugs. Somehow, he’s able to talk to Inquisitors trying to kill him but not Kana. Okay. This has to stop. He feels like the heroine in a romance holo. All of the weird, squishy feelings he has? They are now firmly in the back of his mind. He forces himself to look Kana in the eye.

“Kids are kids.” Fortunately, the bait has been taken. “Anyway, I needed a second on a job we’re running tonight. I like to work with the rookies, you know, and I think your skills will come in handy.” It’s not phrased like a question, but he seems to be asking a question. Erlo makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. 

“So... what’s the job?” Kana’s smile flashes his teeth. 

“I’ve gotten word about a gang of thugs roughing up one of the sub-cantinas. We’ve got an agreement with the owners. Tonight, I’m going to case out the area. Then I’ll bring my report back and we’ll decide what to do.” Erlo nods, like he has the faintest idea what a sub-cantina is. He’s been in precisely one cantina and a handful of tapcafés. Although the actual op sounds fairly simple; figuring out the strengths and weaknesses of an area is his forte. 

“Sounds like fun.” Kana nods.

“Well, if we’re gonna get there on time we should head out now. Traffic gets really bad this time of day.” Erlo nods back, and soon finds himself shadowing Kana down narrow streets, alleys, and even through the first and second floor rooms of abandoned buildings. 

The trip is mostly silent. It’s somewhat necessary, seeing as the streets are filling with people the closer they get to their destination. He’s not sure whether he’s grateful for that or not. By the time they hit an open area, it’s so loud they would have to shout to be heard. 

The sun has started to sink. Sunset has totally different connotations in Alderaani poetry than sunrise, but they seem similar to him. Same people, but in reverse. Vendors are everywhere, selling long sticks of sugared insects and golden-brown cakes that weep oil. Some people push through the crowd with purpose, eyes sliding over the already familiar sights. Others stare around wide-eyed like he must be doing, as if they’ve never seen anything so bright. The streets are filthy, as is common of the permanent structures, but there are so many people that you can hardly tell.

A hand tightens around his wrist as they leave their alley, and he realizes it’s Kana. The sick feeling from earlier rushes back to him, and he does his best to ignore it. They’re just trying to stick together; Kana’s probably aggravated by his green-ness and the necessity of this action.

They push through the crowd and past the first few establishments. In fact, it seems like they’ve wrapped back around into an abandoned area full of squatters and termites until Erlo realizes that there’s far too much traffic for that. People here move in oily groups, walking boldly in the middle of the lane. The few loners and couples stick to the shadows. Even though it’s far from necessary at this point, Kana maintains his grip on Erlo. 

Kana leads them down a sidestreet, to a seemingly dead end. Then he lets go of Erlo’s wrist and knocks rhythmically on a pair of rickety bulkhead doors. One swings open, and he gestures for Erlo to descend first. He swallows hard, then climbs down a ladder into what can only be described as a few degrees removed from the title of rave.

Kana drops down from behind him and grabs him again, only this time he takes his hand. Erlo tries not to stare; he doesn’t need to look as wrong-footed as he feels. But it’s hard. They’re in a square room. A long bar occupies one end, and around the perimeter are booth tables set into the walls. A few pieces of tattered furniture support scantily clad dancers. Patrons are everywhere; drinking and dancing and laughing and stumbling and screaming over the music. There’s no light besides a blinding strobe that flickers every so often. 

He allows Kana to lead him to one of the booths, ignoring the sick feeling. It’s not sick, he decides, more excited than sick. And happy for no real reason. The cacophony fades to more of a dull roar once they’re inside. It’s also easier to see. Searching for thugs will still be a challenge. Half the customers seem to fit that description.

“Nervous?” The other boy asks, dropping his hand. Erlo shrugs.

“This isn’t what I’m used to.” Kana grins.

“Ever assessed a location before?” Hah! He’s not quite _that_ inexperienced.

“My old boss was a crime nut.” He scrabbles to fill in the blanks. “Guy was obsessed with assassins; used to be part of a security force, I think. He taught me how to assess security risks. This place is a tad different than I’m used to, though.” Kana’s eyes widen, and he thinks there might be a flicker of smugness before his face lands on surprised. He can’t imagine why.

“Interesting.” He shifts around on the bench, and their shoulders are nearly pressed together. “Got any more hidden talents I should know about?” Erlo tries to play off his thinking time as nonchalance and pretends to inspect the graffiti on the table. 

“Mostly useless stuff. Learned bits of protocol working with droids, a handful of tech skills, basic hand to hand... I’m shit with a blaster, unfortunately. My dad never thought I was ready to carry one.” That last bit of truth is dangerous. He’s supposed to be a self-made man, learning his skills on the run. Not a whiny kid looking for approval. 

“Is that why you ran away?” Why does everyone keep saying that? Erlo’s about to argue, and then something very strange happens. Kana’s face... opens. It looks real. Like everything he’s seen up to this point was some sort of mask. Kana looks sad. It’s gone as soon as it starts, and he keeps on talking. But Erlo can’t shake the image. “You don’t have to lie to me. I was done with my parents a long time ago. They were so annoyingly passive. Especially my mother. They came from something, but they never fought to get it back.”

“My parents are dead.” That’s not even a lie. And if it is, it’s only half-true. Erlo looks off into the club, noting window placement and possible breaches. Ideally, he’d have blueprints and time to check the exterior. “We, uh... things were rough. They’d always been that way. Some people came around our house one day, and they wanted... something. Killed my dad and Leia’s mom. I took her and ran. I’m not sure if they’re still looking for me or not, but I don’t intend to let them find us.” Something warm on his shoulder. A hand.

“I won’t let them either, if it’s up to me.” Kana’s smile is warm. “We take good care of our friends.” Erlo smiles back. The music and the smell of cheap spirits reminds him of another bench-like surface and another smile. Another darkness. He never followed up on that. Maybe he can-

No. He told himself to feel, to take control of his own path. But he can’t feel this. He can’t go down this road. He barely even _knows_ Kana, let alone anything about ‘following up’. If anything happens it’ll be over quickly and never spoken of again. He turns away abruptly.

“That... window over there? If we’re worried about thugs then it’s probably something we should secure. Is that bulkhead the only entrance?” Kana seems to sag on the bench beside him, and both hands return to his pockets. Erlo is sad and yet relieved. This is what he’s trained for; feelings most certainly aren’t. 

“As far as I know. Might be a door for the dancers and the staff.” Erlo nods.

“Alright. Well, some of the other windows have grating. Some of them are blocked by debris. If we assume the thugs aren’t going to dig their way in, we can rule out those and the walls. It would be better if we know _why_ the thugs are hitting this place; are they after cash? Liquor? Patrons?” There’s a sly grin on Kana’s face, but before he can figure it out, the music stops.

The silence that follows is deafening. They exchange a glance, and then someone shouts,

“RAID!” Screams follow, and a scramble towards the bulkhead. Glass shatters, and Erlo instinctively shoves himself beneath the table. Blasters fire. There’s a sickening thunk from somewhere in the room that might be a skull. And Kana’s still sitting straight up. Erlo grabs his arm and tugs. He follows him down, crouching in the filth beside Erlo. They wait there in the darkness, watching as individual flashlights flare on and men wearing riot gear shove people toward the ladder.

Miraculously, nobody finds them. The dancers are herded out in a single line. One of them, her face caught in the beam of a flashlight, might be crying. Someone swears in another language. And he’s pressed up against Kana the whole time.

Finally, the room is silent. They wait for another fifteen minutes, then crawl on out.

The room is destroyed. Tables stand on end, bottles are shattered on the floor. A lone shoe sits at the bottom of the ladder. Erlo looks to Kana in the dim half-light pouring in the windows. His fists are clenched and his expression is dark. He looks up, his eyes narrow.

“This is why we exist. Why we band together. Why we fight.” The anger in his voice sends a chill through Erlo’s stomach. There are sudden hands on his vest, and he’s not sure how Kana managed to get across the room. The light from the window is just enough so he can see his eyes. And they are so incredibly blue. “These people did nothing! Did you see that? And they were marched off like criminals. It was just a good time.” 

“Why?” It’s all he can think of to say. 

“Because they wanted to. They wanted to destroy this cantina. And they will pay for it.” The eyes move closer. “Will you help us, River? Help me? Make them pay?” He doesn’t like the words he’s hearing, but he’s too focused on breathing like someone with a normal pulse to process them. 

“I...” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll help. However I can.” Kana grins. 

And then their lips touch.

* * *

Ryoo is startled by the presence of four new droids when she steps into the training room, in addition to Riss and Titus. They stand in a line near the wall, each with a different color dot on the torso. Panic races through her; her arm is so sore that the thought of sparring with one droid makes her want to hide. There’s also a table. 

It’s such a normal object, although utilitarian in design, that finding it in the training room is almost bizarre. Riss sits in a chair on one side, facing an empty seat. The Inquisitor looks up as she enters and halts within feet of the door.

“Have a seat.” The legs of the chair scrape loudly as she sits down. While seated, Riss is actually a few inches taller than her. It’s at odds with the usual extremes of standing in front of her or sitting on the floor. “You've had etiquette training.” Ryoo nods. “In that case, I’ll spare you a lecture on posture and table manners. Your task today is simple. Tell me when the droid with the green dot leaves the room.” 

And the droid ship begin to move. Quickly and slowly, in seemingly random directions. They stop on occasion, sometimes in pairs and sometimes in trios, before splitting up again and moving on. She can’t find a pattern. The green one is lost almost immediately, even though there are only five, and a pair of droids step behind the table and out of sight. She turns to look, only to receive a sharp slap on her wrist.

“What was that for?” she asks, jerking back and staring at Riss. The Inquisitor is clearly annoyed.

“You have to be subtle, child. Make your motions seem natural and keep your eyes on me.” Ryoo sighs and turns back to Riss. The droid over her left shoulder has a red dot. It’s standing beside Titus and one with a blue dot. That means one of the ones she can’t see is her goal. Turning without looking suspicious.

The point of this excercise is obviously about following someone in public. If she was in public, she’d be carrying some sort of bag. Will that work on Riss? Probably not, but it will probably hurt a lot worse if she _doesn’t_ keep an eye on the droids. Feeling a little ridiculous, she leans over and pretends to fiddle with a bag. The Inquisitor doesn’t move. There are two droids, one facing her with a yellow dot and one moving towards the door. She turns back to Riss, who looks confused.

“It’s leaving the room now.” Before the hand can fall, she adds, “I was looking through my purse.” A smile, and no wrist slap. Praise Shiraya. The droids return to their line along the wall. Execution style, a small voice whispers. She chooses to ignore it. After a while, they begin to mill around again. It’s hard to follow the green one while facing Riss, but she manages until the woman says,

“What do you think of the table runners?” Ryoo’s focus lapses, and she loses the green droid.

“What?” A slap to the wrist of her injured arm. She yelps and pulls it inward. 

“You understand that this is a social function,” Riss says, frowning. “Small talk is a necessity. You must train your mind to focus on two tasks at once. Decide which is more important, and then give more attention to it. It is fine to let the conversation slip if your companions are not suspicious, but it is also fine to let a low-value target flee if you can gain more by listening.” Ryoo nods, placing her hands on her lap. That’s where they ought to have been the whole time, really.

“Fine.” Riss slaps her face this time. Ryoo moves with the blow, as she’s been learning. “What was that one for?” The mood is darkening.

“The droid left and you did not inform me. Again.” Anxiety bubbles up in Ryoo’s stomach. She manages to converse with Riss and follow the droid, although it doesn’t make another break for it. Not until one of the Inquisitor’s hands twitch and Ryoo jerks away. The green droid runs out the door before she can recover and the hit lands for real. She closes her eyes and focuses on breathing. She can survive this. Worse things happened two nights ago. “Again.”

She slips twice more, once in conversation and once on droid tracking. Her face hurts and she’s shaking. It doesn’t stop. Riss is angry. Bad things happen when Inquisitors are angry. A memory rises up, slamming into a door. Fingers around her throat. Luke shaking like she is now. Ryoo bites her lip, takes a breath and tries to focus. 

Slap.

“There is no time to lick your wounds while on a mission. Stay focused.” 

“I can’t focus if I can’t breathe!” She pushes her chair back and stands up before Riss can slap her again. Tension fills the air and something dangerous flashes in the Inquisitor’s eyes. It’s suddenly chill, the hair rising on Ryoo’s arms. And she wishes she could pull all the words back in. That she could hide from everything until her body stops hurting and her arms stop shaking. 

The moment stretches on. She expects to fly across the room, for the droids to seize her and extract a terrible punishment. The woman simply stares at her. Anger becomes neutrality. Tension becomes silence. Riss holds up a hand and the droids stop their zig-zagging.

“Do you know,” she asks, “how a Mirilian earns her tattoos?” Ryoo shakes her head. “Trials of skill. Survival of hardship. They remind you of lessons you cannot forget, moments that change your destiny. They tell others your story.” A hand rises to brush the markings on her cheek. “I received these on the day I was chosen as a Padawan. My master applied them herself.” She holds up the very same hand, displaying a small group of the diamond-shaped marks. “These have been here for far longer. I’ve had them touched up from time to time. They indicate my departure for the Jedi temple. I would’ve been two or three.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Riss waves her hand.

“I am not finished. My marks tell a story. Most my age would have many. Perhaps I should have more, some for the students I have trained before, some for my fall. But I have just one. If you would step around behind me...” Ryoo doesn’t want to move. It’s almost certainly a trick. But she does. The chair has a solid back, and nothing is immediately visible. And then Riss grips the table in front of her and pulls herself forward, slowly.

She wears a half-top. It made Ryoo wonder, at the beginning. Mirilians keep themselves well-covered. They’re known for it. But Riss always wears pants and a garment that barely falls to the bottom of her ribs. It exposes a good part of her back. A large diamond is inked below her neck. More follow, connected point to point. They march down the skin and beneath the fabric before a single one emerges.

Below that is a scar. It is pink and raw and horrible and progresses in a three inch wide band down a third of her back. Ryoo might have gasped, once. Now she only stares.

“Pain,” Riss says, slowly pushing back, “and foolishness. I deserved it. Perhaps if I had not earned it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Ryoo shivers.

“What happened?” Riss’s shoulders rise and then fall.

“A very foolish young girl saw destruction and devastation around her. And she could feel people die. Imagine that. Imagine being part of a trooper as he’s vaporized. Part of a refugee as their transport is shot down. Part of a civilian as their house is destroyed.” Ryoo steps back, but there is suddenly a droid. It grabs her shoulders with clamp-like hands. “What was she to do? Her elders told her to forget it. To move on. That it was all part of some larger plan.” There’s a harsh, humorless laugh.

“She couldn’t. She couldn’t listen to them. And so she lashed out, and destroyed what had been left untouched. And she felt satisfied that the elders finally listened. And she felt so terribly cold.” The droid won’t let her go. “She had covered her tracks, but they were discovered by a good friend of hers. Instead of admitting it, instead of running... the girl betrayed her friend. She threw her to the wolves and doomed her to destruction.” Another droid steps closer, Titus. The blade from their first meeting pops out of his hand.

“The friend had a very protective master. He discovered the true culprit, and the foolish girl was sentenced to execution. Justice was served, and the elders could return to safe ignorance.” Titus halts. Ryoo cannot breathe. “But it was never that simple. The friend left the elders and then died with the rest of them. The master became a monster. And the foolish girl was punished with a method far worse than simple death.” Riss sighs. “Fear is a teacher, child, not a master. Allow it to control you and face the consequences.”

A blade flashes and Ryoo screams.

* * *

A large auditorium. Large enough to hold nearly the entire population of the building, if need be. A place of spectacle, a place of announcements. Announcements of endings, announcements of beginnings. A place for a duel.

One Vader will not lose.

He gutted Kenobi, master of Skywalker. He ended Padmé, master of his heart. And now he will destroy Sidious, his final master and most hated enemy. Then it will be Vader, master in his own right. The lord of the Sith. Emperor of the galaxy. Father of Luke and Leia Skywalker. None shall stand in his way.

All that is left to do is wait. Sidious will soon be in the building, thinking to manipulate his son. To lecture Vader on politics.

He steps to the window, closing his eyes.

His mind has never felt so whole. Not since that final night on Coruscant when he held his wife against his chest and did his best to remain calm.

No, when _Skywalker_ -

A breath.

Can he truly call his children by that name while he rejects it himself? If not Skywalker, than what is he? Luke is his son. Leia is his daughter. Padmé was his wife, Kenobi his first master. And Ryoo, he supposes, is his niece. All of these links were formed by Skywalker. Not Vader. Not as he is now. Does that make him Skywalker? Could he be?

No. _You broke it. It’s gone. We can’t have it back._

But he was.

Anakin Skywalker is not dead. He is continued. Vader is more than Sidious’s name and false history. 

Many have betrayed him. Many are gone. But when he breaks his final chain, he will reclaim his past. Make whole what has been shattered. And when he has his daughter, Darth Vader will be complete.

Still no.

Someone is missing.

Lars, perhaps, living on that desert hell-hole?

The wife he slew? The friends?

The brother?

No again.

And then it all become suddenly clear.

She is not dead. She resists imperial rule. She will not welcome him.

But he will find her. They will have words. He will convince her. And if she is not moved, he will give her the same choice he gave his foolish wife.

The first apprentice. _His_ first apprentice. The final stray thread.

_Snips._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any problems reading today’s chapter, try removing some of the lampshades and moving out of the foreshadow.
> 
> I have learned how to add character names to my keyboard and now autocorrect has stopped trying to murder them. Huzzah! The legend of Ergo, Royo, Leila, and Darth Sit-ins is no more.
> 
> Yes, mushy stuff. Have no fear, this is not a love story and I’m planning on keeping it that way. Any romance that occurs is what I find necessary for character development.
> 
> Short Ryoo. Has to happen sometimes, guys.
> 
> The quote in Vader’s segment is from the one shot that became this lovely brick of text.
> 
> I’d love to thank you all for reading, once again. Knowing that I’m creating something people enjoy is helping me get through the week. Have a good weekend!


	11. Closing In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat has pushed the cup to the edge of the table.

Everything is fine.

The thin line on her cheek? Nothing.

The watch-the-droid exercise? Simple.

The creeping sense of overwhelming dread? Tolerable.

Ryoo has not felt so out of control since she woke up and realized where she was. But she can’t let herself slip because she’ll just end up hurting worse. Riss seems unfazed. She’s not sure whether she prefers that or not. 

“Red’s left the room now,” she says, hearing the door open. It’s the only droid who’s been near the door the entire time. The constant loitering is annoying, considering that it only seems to leave the room when she’s not paying attention. Riss’s hand snaps towards her wrist. She pulls the stinging hand to her chest and sighs. “I almost miss getting beat up by Titus.” Riss doesn’t respond. Her eyes are focused over Ryoo’s shoulder, sharp and watchful. Like a mouse who’s spotted the tooka.

Ryoo doesn’t want to turn, because she’s seen the woman talk to another Inquisitor before and remain perfectly calm. Whatever’s put her off this badly will probably be terrifying. And maybe Vader, who she’s been doing her best to avoid. Footsteps approach the table, and she rotates slowly in her chair.

There’s not a nasty pile of blood and organs, or a man in a gleaming mask. There’s not some sort of unspeakable evil, or even another Inquisitor at all. There’s just a single figure wearing a long, hooded cloak. And then the hood tilts up and she can see the eyes. Yellow. But worse than that. Sunken into a face with the flesh of a drowned, wrinkled worm.

She knows this man. She’s seen this face. He’s been the leader of their galaxy since she started school. It would be impossible to mistake him now. What in chaos is he doing here? Ryoo’s fingers dig into her sore wrist. The Emperor smiles, and that makes it so, so much worse.

“Hello, Sister,” he calls, his voice a bone-chilling rasp. “And Miss Naberrie. We meet at last.” He knows who she is. Well, Vader _is_ his right hand man. She takes a deep breath. Etiquette. The Emperor has a worse reputation than Vader. If she’s gotten shaky from a few slaps, whatever he might do could drive her over the edge. Why he’s here is not for her to worry about.

She climbs to her feet. He’s from Naboo. And on Naboo, you stand for your elders.

“You remember your courtesies, young one.” Ryoo dips her head. 

“What do you want, Lord Sidious?” Riss’s voice is colder than the air. Ryoo doesn’t dare turn her back to see the woman’s face. The Emperor frowns.

“You forget yourself.” 

“Forgive me.” The tension is becoming dangerous. Fortunately, the issue is not pressed. “I am merely curious as to the reason for your abrupt appearance. I had no idea you were even on world.” The frown recedes slightly.

“I wish to borrow your student for a moment. She and I will have a brief... discussion, as it were.” Ryoo doesn’t like the sound of that. She doesn’t want to have a discussion with him. She doesn’t want to stand within three feet of him, really.

“Do not damage her too badly,” Riss says, sending a shiver down Ryoo’s spine. “We are only just beginning to make progress. I would hate to lose such an asset.” The Emperor’s gaze lands on her, finally, and it’s the worst she’s had to endure since Eleventh Brother in the guest bedroom. 

“I have no intention of doing so.” They talk like protocol droids. “Come, Miss Naberrie. I shall not keep you from your lessons for long.” And she has no choice but to follow him through the door, past Radi, and down the long featureless hallway. Not in the direction she’s used to; towards home and occasionally the medical bay, but in a new one entirely. Ryoo focuses on her steps, her posture, her breathing. Silence pervades the air. It’s not quite tense and it’s not relaxed, either. “You are quiet, child.”

“A full mouth is an empty mind.” Proverbs are safe. She doesn’t dare lift her eyes. The Emperor gives a short chuckle.

“Spoken like a true daughter of Naboo.” Ryoo shrugs.

“I try to be one.” Her prayers have been slipping as of late. She wears pants and tunics in place of dresses. Her parents would understand. Hopefully. 

“I am sure you are tired of hearing it, but the resemblance between you and your aunt is strong. I suppose that is why Lord Vader has spared you. He has a certain... weakness for women of your appearance.” Ryoo remains silent. A few long moments pass. “Do you disagree?”

“He’s left me alone.” She struggles with the urge to fold her arms. “He claims he has no intention of... dishonoring me.” They’re traveling down a very long, very narrow hallway. She can see no door at the end, but a room and some sort of screen.

“For now, perhaps. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, my apprentice is not exactly a man of restraint.” The fading bruise on her shoulder can’t argue with that. “He has mishandled this entire situation from the very first. Had he not been so hasty, your parents would still live, and your aunt. Their deaths were needless.” Is he... apologizing? No. He must want something. She can’t let down her guard. Riss has taught her that much.

But what can he possibly want from _her_? They’ve reached the room with the screen, and Ryoo is startled to realize that it’s not a screen. It’s a window. An outside facing window. But the shutters are open. She gravitates toward it and puts a hand against the frigid transparisteel

Ice. That’s the first thing she sees, ice and snow and sheer drops and darkness. Is it even daytime? They’re relatively high in altitude. If someone fell out this window, they would have plenty of time to scream on the way down. This is where she’s supposed to escape from? A tower of darkness on a frozen world? She wouldn’t last ten minutes out there, and Luke couldn’t manage half that.

“Stygeon Prime. This is Vader’s domain, although a few projects of my own operate here. To the wider galaxy, those inhabiting this compound do not exist.” Ryoo shivers and turns away from the glass, looking at the Emperor for the first time. There’s a half-grin on his face, exposing yellowed teeth. “One could search for a decade and never find this place.”

“No one is searching for us anyway.” She drops her gaze to the floor. 

“That is where you are wrong.” He takes a shuffling step forward. “Your grandparents have started quite a stir with their attempts to locate you and your siblings. Or should I say your sister and cousin?” Sister?

“Pooja’s alive?” The grin deepens, and she doesn’t like it. But Pooja might be okay, and that’s all that matters.

“My forces have not found her. Evidently, she is choosing to remain hidden. I’m certain she’ll turn up eventually.” Ryoo takes a deep breath. “As long as you are hidden, you live and die at Vader’s whim. Your sister, your cousin... they will fare the same. But should you join me on Coruscant, you would become far less disposable. The public eye offers a measure of protection.” This is what he wants. But the reason is still unclear. 

“What do you stand to gain from this?” She tries to keep accusation from her tone. This is a very fragile situation, and speaking out will not be helpful.

“You understand what you are being trained to do. In several years you’ll become a valuable asset. If not, I’m sure you could have a very promising career in politics. People would listen to the niece of Padmé Amidala, especially one who resembles her so.”

“I’m nothing like my aunt.” She turns back to the window, aware that making such an inflammatory statement could lead her down a dangerous path. 

“What makes you say so?” He still doesn’t sound angry. But she also doesn’t want to give anything away that she doesn’t have to. She has a very bad feeling about this man and what this all means for Luke.

“My aunt,” she says, and then she stops. It’s about bravery. It’s about certainty and fear and accomplishments and expectations. But saying it out loud for the whole world to hear suddenly seems like a very bad idea. Riss has been drilling it into her head that she can’t be predictable. She can’t let her opponent see it coming. And so instead of any of that, she says, “My aunt believed in people.” A statement that implies Ryoo doesn’t. And the horrible thing about that is that she’s not even sure it’s a lie. “We share a hair color. Our eyes are the same. But we’re nothing alike.”

“I knew your aunt quite well. And perhaps once you join me on Coruscant, I will be able to make that judgement.” It’s not a question anymore, although she’s not sure it ever really was. With a pang, she realizes being sent to the capitol will mean leaving Luke behind. Leaving him with Vader.

There are too many questions, although she’s learned more in the past few minutes than she’s known during her entire time here. And Pooja is alive. She takes a deep breath in and exhales slowly. Vader won’t kill Luke. He hasn’t killed her, and considering the ‘killed her enough’ remark, that’s a small miracle. Hopefully her little brother won’t have to take a blaster bolt to the gut.

“You fear for your cousin.” She turns to him. “Oh, yes, I can sense your thoughts. You will be trained to hide them in due time. Your cousin walks a very interesting path. He shines brightly in the Force, although his father is too soft with him. Yes, the child is strong, but so... _congested_ with kindness. I shall also take him under my tutelage.” She doesn’t like the sound of that. “You doubt my methods?”

“You have a reputation, sir.” How do you stop someone from reading your mind? She takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the slight scuffs around the window. Nothing but the scuffs. 

“Lies and exaggerations.” What could’ve cause such scratches? An animal? A person? “Your cousin will not be harmed. Not permanently, anyway. And you will still see him.” It’s not like she has a choice, anyway. No. Scuffs. 

“I will... consider your proposal.” Not that there’s much considering that she can do. The Emperor nods, and she follows him from the room. They don’t head back to the gym, though. Down an elevator, a few halls. Ryoo bites her lip. “Might I ask where we’re going?” A ghastly grin.

“All in good time.” They find themselves in a room with a charcoal grey carpet and even darker walls. Luke sits in the center, a look of concentration on his face and a small ball in front of him. The ball begins to roll as she watches with no visible action on anyone’s part. The door closes behind them and the ball stops, Luke’s gaze shooting over to first Ryoo and then the Emperor.

“I don’t-” he says, before shutting his mouth and staring at the hooded man with wide eyes. An Inquisitor stands within, looking quite terrified by their entrance. Maybe the Emperor just has that effect on people. He certainly does on her.

“Brother,” he says, “might we borrow your student for a moment?” And that’s why Luke’s with them when they march into the gym. 

Why he’s there to grab her hand while she suppresses a scream.

And why there is an opportunity.

* * *

Sidious must come to him. Surprise will be an ally he cannot afford to lose.

But waiting is hard.

The Force guides his pacing from the room. He arrives at an open door. One of the compound’s many training rooms. He enters, expecting to find a pair of Inquisitors sparring, or perhaps instructing new initiates. It is neither of those things.

Several sparring droids surround a single seated figure. Her eyes are closed and her hands are busy, throwing the droids around and tossing small electrical charges. One droid falls to the ground as he watches, twitching and sparking. A single green eyelid lifts and the woman calls an override code. The droids fall into line along a wall, one dragging the unconscious body behind it.

“Lord Vader, what a delight.” Her voice is sarcastic and harsh, the accent chipped and frayed. “Has your apprentice also been appropriated?” Vader draws his lightsaber.

“You do not deserve to speak of my apprentice.” A shadow flits across her face.

“I’m well aware.” The red blade hums as he ignites it. “Ah, so you’re feeling guilty today. So am I.” She looks down at the weapon in her lap, but makes no move to defend herself. “I wonder, sometimes. Especially when _he’s_ around. If she could’ve stopped you. If she would’ve.” Her words are the spark that ignite his rage.

“You do not _deserve_ to speak of my apprentice!” She offers him a bored look as he steps closer.

“She might have joined you, you know. Would she have been the one to cut me down?” He’s being taunted and he no longer cares. “Or perhaps you would’ve killed _her_ , too. I think that would’ve been the final straw.” He brings the point of his lightsaber to her chest, but she just glares at him.

“You have _no_ right-” 

“Just kill me,” she hisses, “end this. I have no desire to watch myself torn apart once again, training another apprentice that I cannot protect. One that I’ll have to hand over to the ISB or Sidious. End it now, before I see you strike the latest down after your master.” She laughs, bitterly, at his expression. “I can tell. You haven’t used your saber since you filleted me. His orders, I think. I’ll keep your secret. You may not be gentler than Sidious, but you don’t play mind games.”

“She’s alive.” He wants to hurt this woman, tear her apart on the inside. See the defiance fade before she dies. “My apprentice. I’m going to find her, and she will join me or die. And I think she’ll join me. Would you like to wait for that? See what she thinks of you?” But she only grins. Why is she happy?

“Oh, Vader, you’ve done your math wrong.” She shakes her head. “You won’t find her, she’ll find you. I know her. And if you’re too far gone, too far to be saved... she’ll do what’s necessary. She never knew when to quit.” She gives a haunted laugh as his saber traces her throat. “Go on. Do it.” 

In another time, and another place, he had followed that order. He will follow it now. The point of his blade shifts lower, towards her stomach. Then he had been merciful. Too merciful, though Dooku had stolen his hand and injured his master. He plunges the blade into her flesh and she screams.

Freedom. From Sidious’s order, from his own weakness.

And a reminder of his first act of strength.

* * *

A cool breeze scented with fuel and pavement runs over the rooftop. Korra crouches beside him, her face serious. He peers over the edge. The nearby building is quite small. An outpost of their enemy, Kana had said. A flickering sign over the entrance proclaims ‘SAFETY’ in block letters. A front. The ploy catches tourists desperate for help.

He grips his dagger and pulls himself back down. They’re not going to be in on the raid. That’s not a job for rookies, apparently. No, he and Korra are supposed to observe and guard the exit. Message reinforcements if anything goes amiss. A foil wrapper flutters past, the closest thing to noise. Tirahnn is loud, but their current surroundings are empty. Only a few tramps in the alleys and pedestrians with their eyes down. Erlo’s learning to tell them from the members of rival crews. 

A sudden bang disturbs the relative silence, and a flash of smoke obscures the flickering sign from view. He and Korra sit up to observe the battle.

Flashes and blaster shots. Transparisteel shatters after a time, raining down onto the dusty ground in sharp pebbles. Figures pour from the shadows, far more than live in the warehouse. That’s another thing he’s learned. A motley collection of colors return the fire, felling a few of the advancing crew members. A pang hits Erlo in the chest. In the back of his mind, a voice whispers, _what if that one was Kana? Or that one, or that one?_

He tells that voice to shut up. There’s not time for thinking like that, not now. He’s part of a guard again, and he’d bet his ass Rij never let himself get distracted while screen-watching. Korra is crouched like a predator. If it was up to her, he knows, they’d be down there with the shadows. Erlo’s fine up here. Dying for your friends is very brave, but he’s got Leia. As much as he’s integrated himself with the crew, it’s not a place for her. Not forever.

Not forever. He’s been telling himself that for a week. But he hasn’t been acting like it since the second or third day. Particularly not after the incident in the sub-cantina. _Focus_. The smoke is beginning to clear, and shadows are climbing through the broken window. A few move around to the back. They’ll be there to grab the runners.

“Well,” Korra says as a line of captives is led from the building nearly thirty minutes later, “that was exciting. You were really brave, petalhead. That bit where you scratched your nose...” She shakes her head dramatically. “Pure skill.” Erlo snorts.

“We should be glad there wasn’t much to do. They didn’t even give us blasters.” He’s privately relieved about that last part. Some piece of him is still rooted in the Alderaani tradition of talking it out. 

“You’ve got your little bread-slicer. I’ve got my fists.” She holds up her hands. “Imagine; the entire crew is trapped. Being picked off one by one. And then we jump from the roof and surprise the enemy. There are injuries, sure, but we manage to drive the sleemos off. We’re promoted to members, and I’m sure there’ll be a nice little evening between you and your mob boss-” Before Erlo can cut her off, their comm unit crackles to life.

“ _‘Live up there, rookies?_ ” He recognizes the voice and clipped sentences of Sienna. 

“Barely,” Korra replies, “we had to fend off an attack from a trash spider. I think I scratched my finger smashing it against the duracrete.” Erlo rolls his eyes.

“ _Cut the lip, Inky. Boss wants you out. Wait for the crew on Sitter’s street._ ” Korra’s mouth drops in outrage, but Erlo manages to seize the unit.

“Understood. Roofpost out.” He switches off the transmitter and pulls it on his back. Korra still looks incensed as they gather their gear. “You realize calling me petalhead is just as derogatory, right?” She huffs loudly, picking her way after him across the swollen roof.

“Yes, but I _know_ you. All Sienna knows about me is that I’ve got a bit of _qukuuf_ smeared on my face. Highly doubt she even knows what _qukuuf_ is.” He shakes his head. “Besides, I’m just making fun of your innocence. That’s not a racial thing, it’s a you thing.”

“The galaxy’s been calling my people tree-huggers since the dawn of the Republic. That makes it a racial thing.” A smug smile breaks over Korra’s face.

“Ha!” He raises an eyebrow. “That narrows it down.” Erlo sighs. They’re almost to Sitter’s right now. He really doesn’t like this neighborhood, with its many scantily clad beings and shouted propositions. It says a lot that he doesn’t have to ask Korra to wait on the roof.

“You’re still trying to figure it out?” Honestly, just telling her he’s from Alderaan wouldn’t do much damage at this point. He hasn’t seen a holofeed in weeks, and the crew doesn’t have any active bounty hunters. Keeping it a secret is probably more suspicious than anything else. “What’s the current theory?”

“Mando or Muun.” Erlo bursts into laughter.

“A Muun. How many normal people do you know that grew up on Munnilist?” He shakes his head. “Or a Mandalorian. I guess I can fight, but since when have they cared about nature? Their home planet is literal glass.”

“Hey, Muuns keep their planet all shiny. Ships aren’t even allowed to fly in-atmosphere, I think. And I’m pretty sure I saw someone get punched in a bar for calling a Mando a _metal_ head, so...” She shrugs. “You’re gonna have to tell me eventually.”

“Fat chance.” They fall silent as footsteps echo through a nearby alley. Erlo takes a deep breath. “ _Qui est là?_ ” The words fall from his tongue with surprising ease. Unfortunately, the origin of the mysterious language is still hidden from the rookies.

“ _Les copains._ ” With a sigh of relief, he begins to descend from the roof. Korra’s not to far behind him, and they fall in line with the rest of the group. He doesn’t see any captives, or any hint of the extra fighters. Presumably they’ve gone off to a different safehouse. Someone pushes through the crowd and bumps into his shoulder. He lets himself smile into the darkness. Kana.

They drop away from the group, drawing the attention of Korra alone. She rolls her eyes. He knows she’ll tease him later. He doesn’t really care. Soon, they’re alone, walking down a narrow alley and taking the long way home.

“I’m going to assume that was a success?” Kana smiles, though his face is tired. Erlo wants to reach out and grab his hand. It’s far away, though. Further than the three feet allowed by the alley and the three inches they’re taking. Behind a lot of questions and over a lot of hills. Most of them are his, Erlo suspects, but many of them also belong to Kana.

“On a whole.” He sighs. “The dancers were gone. But we did find some supplies, some valuables... and now the whole zone will know that our crew is not to be messed with.” He smiles. “Next time, you’ll be down there. You’ll help me remind them.” Erlo grins.

“Sure you’ve got room for pretty boys on the ops team?” A tooka streaks across the alley, but it hardly startles them. It’s the usual fare by now.

“I’m not certain,” Kana says, grabbing his hand (finally), “but I think we can make an exception.” Happy-sickness makes his head feel light. “Might have to convince the boss, though.” Oh boy. Erlo is terrible at flirting. And kissing, he’s pretty sure, although he’s only done that a few times. It sounds like there might be another pretty soon. Unless he trips over his tongue and ruins everything.

Instead of speaking, he shrugs, looking down at the ground. Kana stops, stepping closer.

“River,” he says, “look at me.” Blue eyes. So very blue. A hand on his face. 

Erlo’s still not sure if he likes kissing or not. But the little trill of happy-sick in his chest says maybe. When they pull apart, Kana’s smiling.

“I’m glad you decided to stick around.” And Erlo smiles back, though a completely different beat of sickness squiggles through him at that. He can’t stick around. It’s only a matter of time. And he doesn’t want to see the look on Kana’s face when he learns of that.

“Me too,” he says instead, and they make for the warehouse.

>⇟<

“You’re back,” Leia whispers when he flops down on the adjacent pallet. It’s pitch black in the attic, and all he can see is a bit of her face illuminated by a block of light. He pushes himself up on one arm.

“You’re supposed to be asleep.” Her pallet rustles.

“It’s scary here.” He sighs. The bloody kid down the aisle coughs.

“I’m here now. You’re fine.” Rustling from the far corner. Jogan. He was in charge of putting Leia to bed. “It’s not so bad, anyway. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Kana will.” He reaches across the pallet and grabs her hand. She squeezes him back. “I know he will. He feels all bad.” Erlo bites his lip. He should listen to her. She’s been right before. But she was wrong about that shopkeeper...

“It’s not for forever. Korra and I will be members in a few days, and then I’ll find us someplace else to go. Somewhere safer. Okay?” He can practically hear her frown.

“Alright.” She drops his hand. “Goodnight, Erlo.” The last word is a tiny, tiny whisper.

“Night, Leia.” It’s silent, and then the pallets rustle as she crawls over next to him. Erlo freezes, and then he wraps an arm around her. She’s tiny and warm and alive, and it’s weird to have another person so close. Long minutes pass. He’s afraid to fall asleep. What if he rolls over and crushes her? And then he realizes she’s asleep, too.

He stares into the darkness at a blank wall, as if it has all the answers. Kana likes him. Kana is suspicious. Everyone is suspicious. The crew feels like home. The crew feels so far removed. He’s afraid to leave. He’s not sure about staying. Nothing makes sense.

No, one thing makes sense. One thing is part of his job.

Leia. He’ll keep her safe.

And it’s become far more than a matter of honor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context with the ‘first moment of strength’ thing, this Vader killed Obi-Wan in a similar fashion. It’s kind of like his signature move; the Force-choke of this setting.
> 
> ‘Unfazed’ has the dumbest spelling. Seriously, it’s one of those snooty words that you’d think would have a ‘ph’, but no!
> 
> This week has kicked my ass up and down the street. I honestly have no idea how this was written or when. It’s surprisingly coherent. Erlo’s section was written on Tuesday, and I don’t really remember finishing it.
> 
> Buckle up, guys, gals and other humanoids; the next chapter is going to be very long and I’m excited for you to read it.


End file.
